Three may keep a secret, if two of them are dead
by Gemenied
Summary: After Linda Cummings, Boyd faces a new challenge; and with a face from the past, he might have to do something he never planned on doing. A/U for series 9.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Hey and welcome back to a new story of mine. It's going to be an AU for series 9, because I honestly don't believe this is going to happen. Still, it's fun to do and I hope you enjoy it. Many thanks go out to justpeechy from LJ for the basic idea, Cathy for the advice, Steffi for everything and always...and ShadowSamurai83 for the beta. You all are real stars.

Notes: The title is a quote by Benjamin Franklin. The house of prayer mentioned in this chapter does exist - no such thing as depicted here has happened, to my knowledge. Oh and Shadow - how I described those gentlemen - it's not mutually exclusive, you know ;))

**Title**: Three may keep a secret, if two of them are dead

**Author**: Geminied

**Rating**: T+

**Disclaimer**: I don't own anything, unfortunately. If I did, the story would actually happen.

**Summary**: After Linda Cummings, Boyd faces a new challenge and with a face from the past, he might have to do something he never planned on doing. A/U for series 9.

**Three may keep a secret, if two of them are dead - Chapter I**

It was a tranquil scene in the light and airy room. Different from the room they had known before, this one didn't have that somewhat sickly yellowish glow, the curtains being colourful here. There was even a bit of a breeze, due to the pleasantly warm afternoon that allowed for open windows. The temperatures were high enough, but the man in the chair still made frequent checks whether the woman in the bed was warm enough.

Boyd looked up from the book he was reading; he had stolen it from Grace and was actually more fascinated by her comments on the margins than the actual content, but he'd never admit to that, of course. It was a fairly interesting read, her comments giving it just the necessary amount of sarcastic distance.

Still, the scene before him held a bit more of an interest, a smile spreading over his face.

The book she had been reading lay forgotten on her chest, which was rising and falling with each of her breaths. Her glasses were still perched on her nose, despite the fact that at this point she didn't need them. Boyd contemplated taking them off, but Grace looked peaceful and he dismissed the idea quickly. She needed every bit of rest she could get, as the trip to this clinic by the coast had taken more out of her than she'd ever admit. Yet the worst was still to come, with the treatments just around the corner.

In secrecy he had read up on the situation, devoured every bit of information he could get his hands on, even pestered the doctors to tell him more, explain more, give him more material. He wanted to be prepared for everything. It wouldn't be enough, the doctors had been very clear about it, he'd never be prepared enough, but he'd do his damndest to try.

He would probably have the time too, given the fact that after the Linda Cummings-disaster, his professional life was at its end. If the Met didn't sack him on the spot after the trial, he'd be suspended at least. Boyd didn't want to think about it much, pushed it away so that Grace didn't notice his fears. She had been exempt from testifying in the trial against Linda Cummings, due to her medical situation, and he was glad for it.

Grace didn't need any more worries and she'd have those, had she known the details of the trial. If worst came to worst, the end of his career was the least of Boyd's problems. Cummings' solicitor had made it very clear what he might have to expect.

Still, there were more important things in life at the moment, and to Boyd, one of them was watching Grace nap.

In her sleep she smiled just a little bit, the lines on her face easing up. Despite having known Grace for many years, this was a side of her he never saw, and he liked it. Vulnerable Grace had an incredible impact on him, bringing out all of his protective instincts with a vengeance.

She wrinkled her nose in her sleep and his smile turned into a grin.

Assured that everything was well, he gave her a last affectionate smile that she couldn't see and returned to the book in his hands.

It was a normal Sunday afternoon and he could get used to this.

* * *

The scene was one of chaos and destruction and even though the man saw those almost on a daily basis, these particular ones always got to him. Daniel was a survivor, a fighter of the 9/11-aftermath, and these scenes always reminded him of that horrible day.

Fires, water destruction, that was all good and fine, but explosions weren't his thing at all.

The building was in ruins, the houses around affected more or less as well. A lot of debris covered the asphalt of the square, wood, concrete and small pieces of adornment mixed together in a mess. His colleagues were looking for casualties and the thought made him clench his jaw.

Normally, he didn't put too much account into his religion, New York had a fairly laissez faire attitude to all religions, but those were his brothers in faith having come to a peaceful Sunday prayer meeting like they did every week. The synagogue was popular amongst Queens' population, so the house had been full. They had already found twelve victims, the rabbi among them, and there was no telling how many more there would be.

With a shake of his head, Daniel went back to his team, guiding the heavy machinery to pull more of the debris out of the way for the police to investigate.

As the machine came to a halt a few shouted orders later, he could see a small group of people marching onto the scene. They weren't police; Daniel knew all the cops in this neck of the city and those three didn't look any like them.

The woman was dressed expensively, a little too stylish for walking around an explosion-site. The two men, both younger than her, wore expensive suits as well, and if he knew anything about cops in New York City, it was that they were just as badly paid as firemen. Few of them could afford expensive Italian designer suits on a scene like this.

Daniel doubted they were from the FBI either. Of course, it was a clich, but those guys didn't know how to dress. Daniel knew a few of them from places he rather not shared with anybody.

Those three people were agents, he didn't doubt it, and in the back of his mind, he had a pretty good idea where exactly they came from.

It was confirmed when they didn't flash any badges, just walked onto the scene as if they had a right to. They seemed to do no more than a casual survey of the scene, but Daniel wasn't fooled. There was a quick conversation with the officer in charge from the NYPD. The man looked sour, but finally nodded his head in agreement.

This was the fourth bombing of a synagogue in two months. Two here in the US, one in Buenos Aires, the fourth in Brisbane. The Israeli government demanded that an end was put to this.

To Daniel it looked like those three were the people supposedly doing it.

Glancing back at the debris he had to clear up, he didn't envy their job.

* * *

Usually, there were a lot of comings and goings in this room, giving it the stamp of a busy office where things happened. It was a little exhausting at times, the many people, the constantly ringing phones. Now, it was only the noise of the computer fans and above those a bit of quiet breathing.

Papers were strewn across the desks, information running down on the computer screens. In between the desks there were a few people, men and women, and despite the sensitivity of the technology around, they were ignoring the fire safety measures and smoking like chimneys.

They were all nervous, the latest event having added to the pressure.

"I just hope they beat something out of that little shit!" one of the men growled into his cigarette smoke.

"And then? Beat him to death and hope that he didn't make a game out of lying to us?"

The two men stared at each other, just waiting for the other to blink so they could attack. The rest of the people in the room watched it with unease. Tension was high, they were all aware of it.

"That's enough." A woman in a smart brown business suit called them to order. There was a bit of a shuffle, but finally the men deferred to their superior. "We'll have to wait until the interview has finished for the information," the woman said as she sat down in her chair and eyed the rest of the team. "What else have we got? Ari?"

"They used a fairly simple construction. Simple, but effective. A little TNT, a bit of plastics to bind it all together, a timer, set to just two minutes. I guess they wanted to add a bit of a thrill and a bit of a gloat to it."

The people in the room shuffled in annoyance.

The man, Ari, continued. "The Chabad Centre in Little Neck was attended by forty six men, including the rabbi this afternoon. Most of them were in the Sanctuary waiting for the service to start. The toll is now up to 21 dead." He looked up at his colleagues with a pale face. "There are ten more in a critical condition."

Another man took over. "The effectiveness of the bomb is further shown by the fact that the entire entrance faade was destroyed by the explosion."

"Professionals, then."

"Yes."

"How certain is it that we're dealing with the same group that has planted the bombs in San Diego and in Chicago?" The boss, playing with her pen, voiced the question with an edge of ice in her tone.

Another person, who had so far been quiet, spoke up. She looked scared to even open her mouth in the sight of the female boss who had a scary reputation, but this was her part of expertise and in this job they didn't take cowards. "We are positive. They are also connected to the bombings in Argentina and in Brisbane."

"Aim?"

"Cause as much trouble as possible and take a few 'enemies' out in the process?"

"We are not here to joke!" the boss cut the sarcasm short. "Is there a statement of admission with any of those bombings?"

"None so far. I think they just want to cause the hassle. The publicity comes without them having to give their names," Ari said.

"Fine! But who are they? That guy in our interrogation room isn't exactly a famous face," his partner interrupted.

Ari shrugged. "You can take your pick. Some militant arm of the Fatah or the PLO. The Hamas. Taliban. Some new anti-semitic group wanting to put their stamp on the road to extinguish the Jewish plague from the planet. Could be anybody, basically." Ari was a calm man, and normally got along well with his partner, Jason, and the boss. He was known as the friendly centre of the entire unit, but it was Sunday evening, his family abandoned for the day, and he was terrified of where this might go. He wasn't really in a mind to soothe everybody else's nerves when his own were suffering.

"They seem to be well-networked and have quite a bit of money, if they can spread their activities the way they do. Three continents, so far," their boss spoke up quietly.

"They're probably going to Europe next, then," the girl from before put in.

"That would be my assumption as well." The boss gave her a small smile, which made her blush. "The question is, where to."

"Anything?" a new voice broke in, belonging to a tall, impressive man with a shock of white hair on his head. Even though he moved quietly and unassumingly, everybody in the room basically jumped to attention. With a smile, the older man demurred.

"Nothing from the interview so far, sir," the boss announced to her superior.

"How about some camera footage then? Sometimes our dear friends from both the FBI and the CIA are actually useful." He smiled a little too himself, the ironic statement not missed by anybody. They puffed their chests out just that little more. It was just part of the trade in this job, feeling superior in comparison to others.

"Our friend in the interview room was caught on camera with two of his friends. And those two have just been seen at JFK, boarding a plane heading East."

"Where to?"

"London Heathrow," the older man delivered with a very special smile.

* * *

It was dark in the room, now that everybody had finally gone home. If the night security checked, they would have probably missed the woman who still occupied a corner of the room. She leaned against a pillar, looking out into the night. The computers and other technical equipment blinked occasionally in various shaded lights, but otherwise it was almost inky black.

The streets outside didn't provide much illumination either. At this time of the night few people were around and the blinking lights of the ads were mostly turned off.

For the time being, the city and this office gave an absolute sense of peace, which the woman in the corner sought.

"London Heathrow." The two words were running around in circles in her mind. She'd been depicting the way they had been said a hundred times already and still couldn't find what exactly the undertone meant.

It might have been a very personal message, it might have been nothing. She wasn't very good at reading men on a personal level. Hence the fact that she didn't know whether to feel dread or excitement at the prospect of continuing her work in London.

The personal aspect of that city had ceased months ago, was probably not even worth thinking of. Many things could have happened in the meantime. But for a while it had been good.

And he was a very handsome man. Really. Very handsome.

She looked around in the office, her eyes stopping at a clock on a desk. 2.40 am.

This wasn't really what one would call a life, was it?

She stared back out into the night again. With her temple leaned against the cool metal pillar, she felt coldness rise up on her spine and envelop her.

London.

Maybe there was something there.

* * *

Thank you for reading. I hope, you've enjoyed the chapter. Comments would be greatly appreciated.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: First of all, thank you for reading and commenting. Glad to hear you like it. Many thanks go again to Cathy and to Shadowsamurai83 for their help with this chapter.

Enjoy.

**Chapter II**

He was fidgeting, which didn't give a good impression and was not coherent with how he liked to present himself. Sitting in this office, Boyd was happy, however, that it was Christie's instead of DAC Dyson's, who would have been a lot less personal and sympathetic.

Still, the situation was unpleasant. Boyd would have preferred to remain exactly where he had been that morning with Grace but this meeting was about his place in the world and he had no choice but attend it.

The minutes on the stand during the trial came back to his mind. In a way he had been, and still was, in disbelief that Linda Cummings was alive. Falling down several storeys would have killed anybody, but not her. It proved that he wasn't a killer like she had taunted him, but it didn't really help either. The intent was supposedly there, or at least that was what Cummings's solicitor claimed.

Granted, Cummings would probably be unable to do anything by herself in the future and in a way, Boyd pitied her for it. She had a sadistic mind, but it was a brilliant one, and to her it must be agony not to be able to put any of her thoughts into an action.

He tried not to think too much about that woman; it was better for his peace of mind not to. Focussing on Grace brought that out of him and made him grateful for her presence, even though it should be him taking care of her.

Checking his watch again, he heaved a sigh. He had promised to be back by lunch, but if he had to wait much longer, he would not make it.

"Ah, Peter. I'm sorry I've kept you waiting, DAC Ralph Christie walked into the room in a rush and fell into his chair somewhat ungracefully. The sight of the tall, lanky man sprawled out made Boyd think of an off-hand comment Grace had once made and he had to suppress a smile.

"It's alright."

The DAC gave him a long look before nodding quietly. "How is Grace?"

Boyd tensed up for a moment, gauging whether the other man asked out of real interest or just to make conversation. "Doing fine. She's determined to get through it all."

Christie smiled, though for a moment it turned personal and pained. "She's a strong woman."

"Yes, she is."

"It's good that you are with her." Christie fixed Boyd with a sharp look.

"She needs a friend. Deserves it, too. And since I can't do much here anyway..."

Right to the point and no beating around the bush. They were all used to brash behaviour from Boyd, but as it was, his superior had a lot of time for the other man's situation. Christie knew how it felt, whether you gave the feelings their correct name or not.

"Extended personal leave is not a punishment, Peter. You should see it as some well-earned time off. You haven't taken personal leave in years, so now is as good a time as any."

"I guess so. And by being on leave I won't cause any embarrassment to the Met." There was sarcasm in Boyd's voice but it was surprisingly restrained. "I guess the inquiry into my conduct is already set up."

The DAC leaned forward and shook his head. "Don't let that solicitor get to you. She smells her chance to make her name known, but she's got nothing to support her case."

"Except the fact that I didn't hold onto Linda Cummings, who fell down several storeys and is now paralysed from the neck down. She builds her case on the claim that I hated Cummings, had a motive and the opportunity!"

"But you didn't make use of it. That solicitor has got no evidence."

"No, she bloody doesn't!" Boyd couldn't keep sitting down, jumped up and started to pace. "Was anybody there in that warehouse? Was anybody there to make the choice between Grace and my son? Be a killer either way?"

"Boyd..." Christie tried to calm the other man, but found to his annoyance that he didn't sound as soothing as he should have. A psychologist, that would be it...

"It was only Cummings and me up on that roof, and Jordan later on. Nobody else tried to hold onto her! Nobody knows what she said, what I had to do, what she wanted me to do..."

"Boyd..."

With a deep breath, he stopped his pacing and ran a hand through his hair. The DSI had turned almost completely white, Christie noted, a testament to the years and the lifestyle. Boyd took another deep breath, then shook his head. "I know what it will be, if worse comes to worst, sir. And I know what the Met, you, will have to do then."

"Oh bollocks, we'll do nothing and neither will any court. The solicitor just touts those things to draw attention. It's part of the tactics, nothing to it. She'll get nowhere with it."

"And if..."

Christie got up from his chair, rising to his full physical height. He pulled his uniform jacket down in an unconscious gesture, maybe to fortify himself to say the words that would leave the professional ground. "Between you and me, Peter, it's all hot air, but it has to blow over. You being on leave is a safety measure. But..." He interrupted Boyd's bristling. "I still mean what I said. You need a vacation and you deserve it. Have a change of scenery, see something else."

Closing the distance, Christie also lowered his voice. "Take good care of Grace. She deserves that." Urgently, he continued, "It's a horrible situation and it can't be handled half-heartedly. _You_ can't be there half-heartedly."

Boyd gave him a penetrating look, first questioning, then full of understanding. He nodded.

"Six weeks minimum personal leave, Detective Superintendent Boyd," Christie continued in a louder, more formal voice. "The papers will be processed and sent to you by mail."

"Thank you, sir," Boyd replied equally as formal, then turned to leave. If he hurried, he might yet make lunch.

"Oh, Boyd." Christie stopped him just by the door. "During your long absence, CCU still needs to be operational. Do you have a suggestion for your replacement?"

Looking over his shoulder, Boyd gave a small smile. "I'd call DI Jordan, if I were you."

* * *

It was quiet in the office with dusk already setting outside. It left the place with a depressing atmosphere that she was sure would disappear once its owner stepped inside again. He had that kind of presence, the steel shell he showed you, and at the same time there was a humour to the man that surprised her every time. He had once told her that it was due to the way he was made and the place he was born in. She still didn't understand the reference, probably never would.

But then, he was an enigma, one she didn't dare examine too closely. If she looked too closely, she'd might find feelings she better didn't have. There were just so many things that spoke against it.

"I'm sorry I kept you waiting." His voice sounded from the door, making her jump.

He noticed, of course, and smiled slightly before sitting down behind his desk and giving her a reassuring smile. "Relax, Sarah. I have the all clear from Washington and Tel Aviv. And from London, of course."

She nodded, relaxing visibly. "Good. We travel tomorrow then."

Leaning back in his chair, Samuel Rosenberg nodded. "Yes, _you_ travel tomorrow and you won't come back empty-handed."

"Of course not." Sarah bristled. "We know our jobs."

There was a pause during which Sarah felt him staring right into the marrow of her bones. Bristling even more, she sat up in her chair, but her superior interrupted her.

"You might have misunderstood me, Sarah. This was not a statement of fact, it was an order." He leaned forward, placing his crossed underarms on the desktop. Rosenberg knew the power of his stance, the intensity of his gaze. More than one suspect had cowered before it. "Failure on your part is not an option. If it ever was, it has completely disappeared now. You cannot fail."

Once again, Sarah sat up even straighter and shook her head. "I don't plan to. What do you take me for?"

Rosenberg shook his head. "You misunderstand me again, Sarah, and it worries me. You seem intent on doing so."

She was silent, staring at him again. There was a connection between them, something in his face that she couldn't, _wouldn't_ decipher. "I don't understand," she whispered finally.

He nodded, releasing a deep breath before leaning back in his chair again. The atmosphere seemed to de-tense, but it was only an illusion. Rosenberg's words, though spoken quietly, had the impact of a fist to the gut. "I've put myself very far out for you and this mission. Tel Aviv demands a success on this case, otherwise heads will roll." He paused and shook his head. "They were surprised by the on-site team you requested. They asked why. So did Washington and our contacts in London. Their Home Office liaison was particularly put out by our specific demand. Claimed they have much better suited teams to offer, both in their police force and their secret services."

"You told them why I requested this particular team."

The man smiled somewhat ironically. "I considered it feasible to only point out this unit's professional assets. I doubt I could have made them understand the full scope of your interest."

"What are you saying?"

He didn't answer, but his smile became a little wider and a little more knowing.

There was silence for a few more minutes while Sarah tried to get her churning emotions under control again. It was Rosenberg who finally broke it. "You are taking Ari and Jason with you." He made a pause, smiling again, before he continued. "Listen to Ari once in a while. He is a sensible man."

"And I am not?" Sarah smirked a little at that; in fact, they both did, both at the double entendre and the gentle understanding.

With the smiles gentling a little, yet another silence stretched. Rosenberg finally got up and walked around the desk. Half-sitting on it, he took Sarah's hand in his and gave it a squeeze.

"You have to be successful, Sarah. With everything. And I wish you best of luck."

The last words were only a whisper, but she heard them replaying in her mind time and again.

* * *

"Ah, Ralph, good that I've caught up with you. A word, please."

DAC Christie cringed inwardly upon hearing the voice of the Assistant Director of the Home Office. Plastering a cordial smile onto his face he nodded. "What can I do for you, sir?"

"Say, this unit that is under your supervision again, this Cold Case-thing..."

"Yes...?" Christie drew the word out warily.

"Caused a bit of upheaval, recently, didn't it? One officer dying in service, a civilian member abducted during a hospital stay, the officer in charge,... Boyd was, it? Facing charges of misconduct on duty..."

"It was a difficult case, sir. The suspect specifically targeted DSI Boyd, wanted to play mind games with him. Boyd solved the case in an exemplary fashion and completely with in the parameters of professional conduct. No claim by Ms. Cummings' solicitors can change this. Sir."

Assistant Director Creighton nodded. "Boyd's on leave, though, at least until the waves have calmed, so to speak?"

"Yes, sir. The extended leave was mostly granted, because DSI Boyd has accumulated so much overtime that he could take months off without actually having to be on leave. It's the same with most of his team."

"Dr. Foley among them, I presume."

Christie frowned, not liking where this was going. "Dr. Foley is an employee of the Home Office. I'm sure you are aware that her extended leave was granted for medical reasons."

"Quite so, quite so," Creighton hastened to agree. "A very capable woman. One of our pride, and joys, I have to admit. We are quite keen to keep her in the service for as long as possible. I'm just surprised by the temporary coincidence of her leave with DSI Boyd's."

Even though he nodded, Christie bristled. It was the only sign of his inner annoyance. "I am surprised the Home Office has time to concern itself with what its employees do on their leaves. Unless DSI or Dr. Foley see fit to inform anybody about their private matters, I believe this is just that and none of anybody's business."

"Of course," Creighton conceded, his stance just a little defensive. His tone became sharper as well. "However, a situation has arisen that bears some interest in the question."

"Sir?"

"DAC Christie, is the Cold Case Unit fully functional despite two of its key members being on leave?"

"Yes, sir. DSI Boyd recommended a temporary replacement for himself. DI Jordan, who recently transferred to CID, but has had almost eight years of experience as Boyd's second in command, has taken over. They have a second detective in place, DS Howard, and they have their forensic scientist, Dr. Lockhart. If necessary, the unit can call in forensic profilers from either the Met or the Home Office. The unit is fully functional."

"Very good. The situation I mentioned is rather delicate."

"Sir?"

Creighton made a point of looking around as if to make sure they weren't overheard, but still lowered his voice so that Christie needed to step closer, something he found highly annoying.

"We've received a request of cooperation for this particular unit. They are supposed to provide assistance with a case of international top priority. The information I was given is that they were chosen because they have a reputation of leaving no stone unturned, of finding any clue that is to find. If, in and around London, there is a clue, they can find it."

The tone of his voice left no doubt that the Assistant Director found this assessment highly questionable.

"What is the case, sir?"

"I'm certain you've heard of the bombings of synagogues in South America, Australia, and most recently in the United States. Apparently, there is information that suspected members of the group behind it have boarded a plane with destination Heathrow. It is believed that they are still in the city, possibly with intentions to plant bombs here as well."

"That's not exactly a case for a Cold Case unit."

"The request came directly from Tel Aviv. During the call it was stressed that the request was made because of the impressive reputation of Boyd's team. Apparently, somebody in the Mossad is convinced that Boyd is Superman with a team of sidekick geniuses."

Christie bristled at the tone the Assistant Director took, derogatory as it was, but he also had to agree to a point. The unit was capable, certainly, but it all sounded like somebody had a very personal interest in working with Boyd's team. Or more specifically, with Boyd...

The reasons for this, Christie didn't want to question.

* * *

Thank you for reading. Comments would be greatly appreciated.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Back with a new chapter, I put in a little warning. My marvellous beta ShadowSamurai83 called me evil, because of this chapter. So I guess, I'll warn you. I'm evil.

Enjoy.

**Chapter III**

It was dark in the office, even more so with most blinds drawn. Since it was after hours, only the ventilation systems of the computers and air-condition produced a noise. Otherwise it was quiet.

He liked that, the quiet and solitude. It allowed him to think, get his thoughts in order. Grace always said that he needed to do that. So he sat there, feet on the desk and sprawled in his chair, sipping his scotch. The new case they had been given sounded...interesting to say the least. They had received quite a few accolades beforehand, which worried him a little. Usually his unit wasn't praised.

The way they had come about this particular case bothered him a little. He didn't like playing with political bigwigs. The results tended to leave him frustrated - the aim of such investigations usually wasn't the truth.

Still, there had been little choice but to accept the case and do the best they could.

Boyd sipped his drink again and closed his eyes with a content sigh. The evening, as it was, could hardly be improved, could it?

A noise from outside made him perk up, but he relaxed again almost instantly. Somebody had probably forgotten something. Maybe Grace who had forgotten some of her files again. How such a naturally chaotic person was capable of analysing people like this, he didn't know.

There was another sound, which did make him notice. Through the drawn blinds he couldn't see anything, but he figured it didn't really matter. As it was quiet again, Boyd didn't bother and went back to his drink and his musings.

Suddenly, however, the scraping sound repeated, this time in the familiar way of his office door scraping over the flooring. Alarmed, he looked up and his jaw dropped.

The drink in his hand was carefully placed back on the desktop while he turned his chair around slightly to manage the feat of not falling off while getting a better angle to ogle the newcomer.

She smiled a small, mysterious smile, her eyes glittering in the half darkness. He was shocked to say the least, a not altogether unbecoming sight. Taking a deep breath, she closed the door behind her, the engaging lock not audible over her rapidly pounding heart.

It was a bold move to come here like this, basically throwing herself at the man, but the time for being proper and controlled was over, at least in her mind; it was time to come out and get what she wanted.

She took a step forward, then another - self-assured and hip swaying - and his eyes turned wide. He was in shock, but there was a spark of interest in his eyes and a small grin forming at the corners of his mouth. It almost disappeared in the crags and lines of his face that was covered in a five-o'clock shadow and that sent off such a large amount of testosterone that she felt her knees growing weak in reaction.

He wasn't the type of man she usually went for, but damn if he didn't push all the right buttons right now.

They still hadn't said a word and they wouldn't any time soon as she closed the distance and unceremoniously pushed his feet off the desk to stand before him. With a space opened, she dropped into his lap, settling herself comfortably and once done, ran her palms over his chest underneath the lapels of his jacket.

His skin was hot to the touch, even through the layers of clothing, and she shivered at the thought of where this might lead. It was late, everybody else gone home. Who would disturb them in what ever they would be doing?

The thought made her smile, images of what lay ahead tumbling over each other before her mind's eye. He was still staring at her in disbelief, didn't speak, didn't move, but she didn't mind. Leaning forward, she brushed her lips against his brow, his temple, his nose, before moving in for serious business.

As their mouths touched, she moaned.

It had been so long since she had felt like this. She pushed forward determinedly, sliding her tongue over his lips. It was a small movement, but suddenly their tongues tangled, taste exploded along with the heat in the room.

His hands came around her body, pulling her tightly against him as he woke from his stupor and kissed her back fervently. He kissed well, she knew, and moaned again. He was taking over the situation, crushing her body against his, no matter how uncomfortable it would be in the long run and groaned her name as his hands began to busy themselves with opening and pushing off her clothes.

"Sarah..."

* * *

Turbulences shook the plane as it slowly descended from travelling altitude towards the island that was their destination. In almost clichd fashion, they were flying along the edge of a bad weather front that gave the land below lots of wind and cold rain.

"Good old England doesn't look very welcoming," Jason murmured derisively. It wasn't clear whether his complaint was addressed to Ari, who seemed to come out of a nap, or Sarah, who had trouble shaking the vestiges of her fantasy.

Her first meeting with Boyd was bound to not pan out the way she had just dreamed it. There would be people around, Spencer, Eve, the new PC...Grace. She didn't know in what condition Boyd was these days, what had happened to his son, how he took Stella's death; all she knew was that Grace would be there, centre-stage in the team. Even absent, she always was. Nobody got by Grace. And Boyd liked it that way.

Heaving a sigh, Sarah resettled herself more comfortably in her chair.

Even if nobody was in the office, even if Boyd was still available, and even if he was receptive to any advances, she should focus on the job. Rosenberg's warning still rang in her ear. She must not fail.

Still, it was a great image in her mind and even if she didn't snog him senseless upon arrival, it could always come after an outwardly respectable dinner, couldn't it?

* * *

Late Friday afternoon was sunny again, even warm for this time of the year. People walked about the streets with their coats and jackets open, card board mugs of coffee and tea in their hands. There was laughter and jokes around, people enjoying the fact that the weekend was just around the corner.

A few faithful souls hastened towards the massive brick building on one end of the square, eager to fulfil their religious duty. Friday saw the most important prayer of the week and they didn't want to miss it.

In a vehicle, parked only a few yards away from the house of prayer, three men observed the faithful with interest. Their faces, hidden behind sunglasses, gave nothing away of what they were thinking and feeling. There seemed to be a certain tension in them, though, as they frequently checked and compared their watches.

"Go!" was finally uttered, causing one of the men to leave the vehicle and walk briskly towards the building.

Most people, caught in their own lives and their own ideas of the rest of the day, paid no attention to either the man or the bag in his hand.

At the house of prayer, he was welcomed pleasantly and invited to step in. He nodded at first, but then hesitated, checking his watch again. Everybody else, as time was neigh, moved further into the building.

Suddenly, he dropped the bag in his hand and made a mad dash for the door.

A second too late, however, as an explosion rocked the entire building, blasting its faade into thousands of pieces.

Screams filled the air as bodies and debris flew all over the street.

Tyres screeched.

* * *

Heathrow was crazily busy as usual. It was a wonder sometimes that it actually functioned most of the time. Standing at the baggage claim, Sarah nervously switched her phone back on, almost expecting it to ring first thing and announce another attack.

With half an eye on her luggage, another on her companions, she keyed in her pin code. Even though she had expected it, the ring of her phone shocked her, made her hands shake a little. With effort, she pulled herself together, schooled her features to neutrality and answered the call.

As the call went on and she, due to the public scenery, answered rather shortly, her face darkened. The news was getting considerably worse and as she heard the notification of another caller trying to contact her, she knew what that meant.

From the corner of her eyes she saw Ari take a call and ended hers in a hurry.

Stepping closer to the man, Sarah didn't say a word, her intense gaze saying enough as it was.

When he ended the call, Ari was pale underneath his tanned skin. Shaking his head, he ushered his colleagues to a corner, their voices hushed.

"There was an explosion at the synagogue in the Maida Vale district. Faade blasted off, just as service was about to begin."

"Any further information to at this point?" Sarah asked with a slight edge to her voice.

"No. No numbers either. Police are said to have cordoned off the area and our support team has been called in to process the scene."

"Let's go and see for ourselves then," Jason suggested urgently. "What are we waiting for?"

Sarah ignored him. "Were there any specific orders for us, Ari?"

Ari shook his head. "Mr. Rosenberg leaves it up to your judgement, though I think he believes a somewhat gentle approach towards our support team might be prudent."

"We have no time for prudence," Jason scoffed.

Sarah nodded, but didn't answer. Inside her the battle raged between the tough professional who was above every personal jitter and the gawky school girl who was lost for words and moves in the face of her secret crush. She hated it, that shouldn't remain strictly professional, that so many emotions were rushing through her at once.

Ahead her colleagues walked towards the customs exit, Jason almost running. She understood his urgency, the eagerness to solve the case and prove himself. Just as she understood the anger boiling in him. For her, it wasn't so easy, though.

Meeting your past never is.

* * *

He had overseen the area being cordoned off properly. He had made sure that uniformed officers kept the curious onlookers at bay. He had directed aides from the forensics teams towards the area where Eve was working. He had instructed Kat to work as a liaison between the police and the fire brigade. And in between all that, Spencer asked himself why the bollocks he was landed with this case.

From what he could see, this was nothing like the usual site they went to. Granted, sometimes explosions or fires unearthed corpses that had been in the ground or behind walls for years, but this place didn't look like it at all.

Rubble covered the street and the lawns, debris from the faade of the synagogue, and it didn't take a genius in Spencer's mind to gather that the event fit in the line of attacks on Jewish houses of prayer all over the world. Of course, there was always a good portion of doubt involved - this could be a coincidence or an imitation - but it might not be.

What it definitely wasn't was a cold case and therefore, it usually didn't land in their laps. However, he clearly remembered the meeting he had attended yesterday.

It wasn't a common experience for him to be in a room with DAC Christie, the Commissioner _and_ Vice Home Secretary Creighton, and he had not expected to be introduced to his temporary job and the work they'd be doing by so many illustrious people. What Spencer clearly remembered were the thinly veiled warnings and threats should he not live up to expectations. Dissolution of the unit was one of the minor points.

As he had left the office to return to their own, Spencer wondered if Boyd used to have to put up with such threats on a regular basis. If so, his respect for his ex-boss was rapidly rising again. Of course, their relations had improved since the events on the roof of that warehouse, a truce and an understanding formed. But even more so it was because of Grace.

With her fighting for her life, there seemed little point in hashing over old grudges. And as perceptive as she was, even in her weakened state, Spencer didn't want her pissed at him because she felt he treated Boyd unjustly. In addition, Boyd's obvious commitment to taking care of Grace helped. A lot.

Spencer felt honoured that Boyd had recommended him as a replacement, but now he wished he hadn't.

The three men in that office had informed him that the team was supposed to be working with a secret service group from abroad - no questions to the why allowed - on a case this strange team would bring along, and it was expected they successfully finish the case. Information would be given by the leader of that team.

Incredulously, Spencer had recounted the orders to the girls. Any previous teasing was thus nipped in the bud. The assignment was political, they agreed on that, hoping that they could deal with it when the work came around. It was a matter of pride or embarrassment, diplomatic issues and reputation, Secretary Creighton had stressed time and again. When he repeated this for the fifth time, Spencer had been ready to stuff the pompous arsehole's mouth. From the looks of it, DAC Christie would have been a willing participant in the act.

They had all understood that solving the case to satisfaction was a demand. Lack of success would be embarrassing and consequential for British foreign politics. Spencer understood it, even the first time it was said.

As he eyed the scene before him, he wondered what they had gotten themselves into.

Kat walked up, shaking her head. "No deaths, luckily. Eight people injured, two of them severely. They are all known to the community. All regular attendants."

"Not an insider then."

Kat shook her head again. "No. Eve and her team are still collecting samples, but she says there are no remains of an additional body."

Spencer nodded and let out a deep breath. "Tell her to gather what she already has and take it into the lab with her. The guys from forensics can do further hunting and gathering."

* * *

They reconvened in the squad room over an hour later, all armed with mugs of coffee, staring at the board where they were slowly beginning to line up the hints and information they had gathered.

"One thing we can clearly say at this point is that it was no suicide bombing. Unless we'll find something completely new, which I doubt, all human body parts are accounted for. There are also no scraps of clothing to point to any person still missing," Eve declared and took a sip from her coffee.

"We do know that the bomb went off in the ante-chamber of the Sanctuary. It was brought in inside of a messenger bag made of leather and dropped there," Kat added, her body half turned towards the board and half to the desk.

Spencer rubbed his forehead before staring at the board again. "So, what we have here is a walk in, drop the bomb and leave. Nobody saw anything or recognised anybody. And nobody can describe the person who might be responsible, because nobody was paying attention." He groaned. "Great, just great."

"There was a lot of blood on the scene. It's possible that the attacker was injured as well, but was still capable of leaving in the chaos," Eve ventured, but it didn't sound very convinced.

"Yeah, and where is this injured attacker then?" Kat threw in, an edge to her voice.

Spencer didn't move to interrupt.

"Look," Eve finally spoke up, "We can discuss this until we are blue in the face. We won't have anything until we have done further analysis. That won't happen until we have the entire site processed completely and we had a chance to go over each and every piece of evidence and quite possibly every blood stain in the vicinity."

"Yeah..."

"Question is, why should we? It's not a cold case. Therefore it isn't one for us." Eve gave Spencer a long look. "I know that the order comes from the highest charges in the Home Office, but why do they want us to do it?"

"Because we need experts on gathering all hints that are there. Possibly a few nobody else would find," a female voice came from the vicinity of the stair case.

Everybody in the room shot around to look at the newcomers. Silence stretched as the Met officers took in who was standing in the room.

Finally, Spencer found his voice, but it sounded choked as he uttered, "Miss Levin."

* * *

Thank you for reading. Comments would be greatly appreciated.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Thank you very much for your encouraging comments. I really appreciate them. I hope this new chapter is up to par, so...enjoy. Many thanks go, once again, out to **Shadowsamurai83** for the beta.

* * *

**Chapter IV**

It had taken them all night to reconcile with the fact of who exactly they were working with and as both Spencer and Eve leaned against the lab door, nursing mugs of coffee, they were still not really at ease with that fact.

"It's a political appointment, Spence. Somebody in the Home Office wants to please somebody higher up," Eve announced into her mug. "The Met has an entire branch dedicated to anti-terrorism work and _we_ weren't a part of it."

Spencer shrugged. "Secretary Creighton mentioned a re-focus of this unit..."

"Anti-terrorism?"

"No." He shook his head. "More like a jack-of-all-trades unit.",

"Oh joy," Eve countered and took a large mouthful of her coffee. "So, we'll get all the crap jobs nobody wants and the upper levels have someone to blame at the ready." She shook her head and rolled her eyes. "I take it it's that or dissolution of the unit?"

With a short nod, he busied himself with his coffee. "Creighton pointed out that they expect Grace and Boyd to retire in the near future, and then what sense is there in keeping up this unit?"

"Bastard!" The curse came from Kat who had just walked in and dropped her bag. "We are just pawns in their games, aren't we? What happens to us doesn't matter."

"We are not at liberty to discuss this topic," Spencer mock quoted.

"What is the real reason then they landed us with this job? It's a hot case for one, and it's anti-terrorism. Not our business." She turned towards the coffee maker and asked over her shoulder, "Is it to do with that lady who marched in here yesterday?" The other two didn't answer, but with the coffee brewing, Kat turned back and suddenly smiled impishly. "She's one of Boyd's old flames, right?"

"Boyd stays out of this, Kat," Eve said imploringly. "Neither he nor Grace should be involved in the case."

"They are on leave for a reason...," Spencer added.

"I guess so." Kat shrugged, feeling the tension radiating off the others. Then she smiled slightly. "I'm still shocked that he's actually taking leave and spending it with Grace. Never thought he had it in him."

Silently, Eve and Spencer agreed, but many things had happened and in a way it looked as if Boyd needed to take care of Grace just as much as she needed somebody there for her. Some people's timing was really off, though.

* * *

As they gathered in the squad room half an hour later, segregation between the two teams was obvious. From her seat, Eve took it in with a clinical eye how Sarah's colleagues, Ari and Jason, surveyed their surroundings with a good portion of derisiveness. Granted, their place wasn't much to look at, Grace's desk under the stairs being the prime example, but what did office space really tell about their professional prowess? Sitting down, she leaned back and sipped her coffee.

"Do you have any news?" Sarah asked briskly and sat down next to Spencer's desk.

He bristled at the tone, but shook his head. "We are processing the material we received from the forensics teams. With the sheer amount of objects, it will take a while, though."

"There are thousands of debris pieces from the buildings, clothes, soil, blood, other liquids. To gather them is time consuming and if we miss a piece, we might miss the connection to a possible suspect," Eve joined in.

"We know who is responsible, Doctor," Jason declared. His entire body language showed that he didn't want to wait and deal with any hold ups. He looked like he just wanted to jump up and just get it done. Whatever 'it' was.

"Who?" Kat asked before anybody else could.

While Jason tensed even more, Ari gave the CCU a long look and a small smile. "We believe that it's the same group that made the attack in New York last Sunday."

"How do you know?"

Ari smiled, but Sarah cut in before he could reply. "We aren't at liberty to discuss this at the moment."

Silence settled as the CCU team sat there, eyeing their new colleagues with raised eyebrows. It was very quiet in the room. No phone rang, there was only the continuous hum of the computers as a backdrop to their silence. Sarah looked to the right again, then at her watch. No Boyd. It was past ten already, but neither Boyd nor Dr. Foley had yet shown up.

"What do you have at the moment, then?" she finally asked with an edge to her voice.

From the looks of it, the two Met officers were of a good mind not to answer that, but after a quick silent communication between all three, which didn't go amiss by their guests, Kat finally spoke up.

"We can rule out a suicide bombing at the moment. The person who dropped the bomb could be among the eight injured, who are all currently treated at St. John's & Elisabeth's hospital. It is unlikely, though, because one of them is the rabbi, the other seven regular attendees."

"None of them suspicious?" Spence asked quickly.

"She said they are all members of the community, Mr. Jordan," Ari threw in, holding Jason back.

The police offer turned and stared at the other two men. "If the attack was not performed by your suspected group, but by somebody imitating their method, the trail might run cold before we even start looking for him." Turning again, he gave Kat a quick smile. "Leave a question mark to them, Kat. We'll question them, at least as witnesses."

Kat nodded.

Another silence settled, this time much more tense than before. Looking around, the three agents wondered why the DI was throwing around his weight like this and where the officer in charge was during such a crucial stage of the case.

"What's the other option, Kat?" Eve asked quietly.

The DC shrugged her shoulders. "Our suspect could have escaped, either completely unharmed or with minor injuries that didn't require immediate medical treatment."

"Have you checked this possibility?" Sarah leaned forward, urgency to her voice.

"We have requested the CCTV material from all cameras in the vicinity, but it might take until tomorrow until we've got all material," came Spencer's calm reply.

"What?" Jason exclaimed. "Time is of essence here and you are going on as if you're waiting for your fucking tea!" He jumped up and marched over to where Spencer was sitting, puffing himself up as if he wanted to punch the DI.

Spencer didn't react.

"I'm sure there are reasons why, Jason," Sarah spoke up again. "I doubt the Metropolitan Police is deliberately holding material back when their city has been targeted."

"So what do we do then?" Jason asked aggressively, his body taut in frustration.

Sarah took another look at the empty office to her right. "Wait, I guess."

* * *

"This is going to be a pain in the arse," Spencer groused just after lunch hour had finished. With the first videos from CCTV cameras arriving, Jason, Ari and Kat had parked themselves in front of the screens, trying to discover the proverbial needle in the haystack. It wasn't very promising, as those cameras had been in adjacent streets, but it could give them a head start on any cars leaving the area.

Eve had returned to her lab to process and check as many blood samples as possible, and Spencer, trying to avoid the atmosphere in the squad room, had followed. Being put to menial work seemed a lot more appealing, especially if he could complain in the process.

"They want a fast result, you know," Eve declared absentmindedly.

"Yeah, and at any price."

She looked up from the microscope. "Possibly."

"I don't like how they demand us to put all our cards on the table, but whenever we ask a question they 'are not at liberty to divulge.' And I'm gonna punch that Jason before long."

"Using the Boyd-style, huh?" Eve teased.

"It looks really appealing at the moment."

They chuckled for a few moments, both thinking of their absent boss and his antics. The mood sobered quickly, though, as Boyd's irrational behaviour spells automatically brought back the idea of Grace saving the peace.

"Did you hear anything?" Spencer asked finally, sounding pressed.

"Just what they let me know last night on the phone and I'm not sure how much of it is pretence."

He nodded, having had a similar call the previous night. "Should we tell them? About the case, I mean. And Sarah."

"To what end, Spence?"

"I don't know. Being honest, I guess." He shrugged.

Eve smiled quickly. "Honest maybe, but smart? They'd both want to help solving the case."

"I know."

"And it's not just the case..." Eve left the sentence unfinished. She didn't need to say it, Spencer knew it just as well.

"We keep it quiet," he said after a while.

"Everything."

They shared a long look, then Spencer nodded. "Everything."

* * *

The day had dragged out forever, it seemed. CCTV coverage had trickled in very slowly and even though she understood on a sensible level that the partially destroyed, partially damaged cameras of the explosion-site needed to be handled carefully, Sarah still couldn't quell the frustration. They needed a quick result, on that she agreed with Jason. She wasn't as single-minded as he was about the means to the end, but the sooner they solved this the better.

Sarah was no fool, she knew that more than just her professional reputation was at stake. Samuel had gone out on a limb for her and if she fell, he'd suffer too. She didn't deserve this support, even though it was freely given. It made her uneasy. In their relationship there was something unspoken, something she didn't want to look at for fear of what she may see.

Maybe it was fear that had brought her back to London, wanting to revive something that, for all its complications, sounded safe. With Peter things were clear, in a way.

Snorting to herself, Sarah looked out of the window of her cab. It was raining again, typical for London, they said. It fit her mood.

There was no progress with the case yet. The footage they already had would only fit in once they knew what and who to look for. Dr. Lockhart had identified the blood samples they already had, but there were still dozens to check. Witness interviews had not started yet, as most of the people were still in shock. All in all, the case was just not moving at all.

What really bothered Sarah was that the CCU team seemed, at best, guarded in their behaviour; at worst, they were downright defensive. Sarah wasn't entirely sure, but it almost seemed as if they were holding back information on the case.

In addition, all day she had seen neither hide nor hair of Boyd. The fact was unbelievable in itself and she had caught herself wondering about it all day. Seeing the office remain dark and unused had made her antsy and uneasy. Where was Boyd?

She doubted he'd insisted on his weekend with a new and important case starting. It wasn't like him to push work aside for personal matters. It never had been, one of the reasons why their relationship fizzled out months ago, even before she made that terrible faux pas on the phone. She didn't blame him for it, he'd never made a secret of his priorities.

Being absent like this was therefore all the more strange. Grace Foley's absence didn't make it any better, the coincidence telling in its own way. What, Sarah didn't want to imagine.

All day she had thrown guarded looks at the dark office. All day she had been waiting for her boys to come and ask why the hell they were settled with the lower charges. It was only a matter of time until they would, and she had no answers.

It was one of the reasons why she sat in this cab now, driving through the dark and rainy streets out to Probert Road. Say hello to her past and get an answer or two.

The house, however, was in virtual darkness. There was no light inside and there was no reaction to the ring of the bell.

Sarah stood there for almost five minutes, ringing the bell several times. Unless Boyd had gone deaf in the meantime, he had to have heard the ruckus. That meant he either ignoring her or he wasn't at home.

Heaving a sigh, Sarah pulled out her mobile and dialled the number she hadn't used in a few months. As the ring tone went, she felt her heart speed up, her throat clogging. It would have been a lot easier to speak to him in person, look at his face, see the reaction. Now it would be a lot more formal, much more distant.

The phone kept ringing and nervously she checked how long it already went on. 30 seconds, 35. The mailbox came on, but without leaving a message, Sarah cut off the call.

* * *

The blinds were drawn, throwing the room into darkness. The only illumination came from the bright pictures on the TV screen. The footage of beaches and historic artefacts in bright blues and whites was easy on the eyes, sparking dreams. That seemed to have been the reason why it was chosen as the programme to watch.

The bed in the room wasn't overly wide, it wasn't even overly comfortable, but somehow the man and the woman on it had arranged their bodies so that they fit. They were quietly watching the feature about some classic holiday destinations, though truth be told it was the woman who kept her focus on the screen. The man, though catching moments every now and then, drifted away with his gaze and his thoughts on a regular basis.

"I always wanted to go there, see if those colours are true or a manipulation by cameras," she drawled quietly. "It looks so unreal."

"That's because it is manipulated," he replied quietly.

She chuckled lightly in response. "You just can't allow me even this little bit of illusion, can you?"

"Of course not. You are a sensible woman of science. Somebody has to pull you back from your flights of fancy." There was a slight chuckle again and his smile widened when he felt her smile against his chest.

"You don't know half of my flights of fancy."

His chest rose and fell with his quiet laughter and his grip on her shoulder tightened a bit. "Sounds curious."

As their laughter tapered off and she refocused on the screen, he solicitously rearranged the edges of the blankets covering her, then watched the developments on the screen as well for a while. He could feel her body becoming heavier against his, her breaths becoming deeper, knew that she'd be asleep soon.

"Good Lord, this is domestic," he muttered to himself.

The deep and even breathing next to him changed again, but her voice sounded sleepy underneath the smile he knew she wore. "Bored much?"

Boyd smiled and held Grace just a little tighter. "Not at all."

* * *

Thank you for reading. Comments would be greatly appreciated.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Don't worry, I haven't forgotten this story. But with the other stories and a few trips in between, this one has fallen a bit to the wayside...and this chapter didn't exactly endear itself to me. There've been a million and one rewrites and corrections in it. I just hope that it somehow works, makes sense and gets anywhere close to standard.

That said, enjoy anyway.

Many thanks to ShadowSamurai83 for the tons of time and effort to help me along with this chapter.

* * *

**Chapter V**

The tension between the different teams didn't seem to have abated throughout the night. They still stood in different corners of the room, they spoke in whispers, they didn't look at each other. To an outsider, it would have looked as if two gangs were preparing for the big knock-out fight.

The CCU-team in their corner prepared coffee for everybody, sort of a peace offering before the footage from the cameras at the square would be brought by. Eve, handing over empty mugs to be filled, was waiting for a call on the explosives used. All in all, it could have been a regular work morning, had it not been for the cloud of mistrust and bad mood that had descended with the arrival of their American guests.

Jason still looked like he just wanted to waltz over the witnesses and the evidence; the lack of a real hint to go on seemed to piss him off. Ari, the quiet one, hung back and just sometimes threw in a quiet word. The really black cloud was hanging over Sarah, though, and both Spencer and Eve could hazard a guess as to why that was. Mobile phones had been switched off. If you didn't know the landline extension, Boyd was unavailable.

"What's the situation today?" Sarah asked tiredly. On a personal level she wondered whether the make-up had done a good enough job to cover her sleepless night. From her unsuccessful venture to Boyd's place, she had relocated to a pub, but two shots down abandoned it as well. Drinking alone and getting maudlin was pathetic.

It was Sunday morning and they had already wasted a day and half with no results on the case. Boyd might have been faster in securing a success, but his absence was no excuse, was it?

Kat spoke up, her smile tight as she moved to the clear board. "Uniformed PCs have started questioning uninjured witnesses. The results aren't very promising as of yet." Jason snorted derisively. The young PC turned and gave him a questioning look, but instead of an answer, he rolled his eyes and shook his head. Giving Spencer a questioning look, Kat continued. "They say that there was a lot of commotion right after the explosion and before it was just a busy afternoon."

"A waste of time then," Jason cut in.

For a moment there was silence as the CCU-team waited for Sarah to step in and calm her colleague down. As nothing happened, Spencer replied tightly, "It just means that we'll have to give people something specific to go on. We'll have to have a specific car or a description."

"Then you should work faster maybe?"

At this sneered comment, Spencer jumped up from his chair and growled at Jason. "What's your problem?"

The Mossad-agent said nothing. From his posture it became clear, though, that he considered the question too dumb to answer.

Ari, who had remained silent so far, spoke up quietly, his behaviour just as much a soothing gesture to the CCU as it was a calming one for his own team. "Dr. Lockhart, did you get any further with the different blood samples?"

"No. The samples I could identify so far belong to the eight injured. The on-site team is focussing on an area near the former entrance hall though, as we'd have to assume that the attacker was trying to escape and would have been caught by the blast in the vicinity of the doors."

"How long will that take?" Sarah asked.

Eve shrugged. "Cataloguing all blood splatters from an area of 50 square foot is time consuming."

"We don't have time!" Once again, Jason spoke up. This time he left the sneering out, replaced it with forcefulness. "We need to stop those bastards. Squash any chance they have to bomb another synagogue."

"That's what we are doing, finding evidence to identify and convict them," Kat spoke up somewhat timidly.

"They can bomb another dozen houses of prayer until we'll even have enough 'evidence'," he sneered the word, "to start searching properly."

"What you wanna do then?" Spencer asked ironically. "Take a gun and just wildly fire into a group of people who would fit the profile simply by their skin colour?"

At that Jason kept silent, though it was easily obvious that he had to swallow the quick reply that was on his tongue.

"Speaking of profiles," Ari tried to diffuse the tension and at the same time satisfy his curiosity, "Where is your profiler? I assumed she wouldn't insist on her weekend away when a new case of such importance comes in."

Sudden silences seemed to be the theme of the day as the Mossad agents stared at their new colleagues with urgent interest, while Spencer, Eve and Kat simply stared back in disbelief. A suppressed snort of laughter broke the moment. Spencer joined the sound with incredulous, breathless laughter. "You are joking, right?"

"No!" The defensive tone was Jason. "The explosion was on Friday and this...this Dr. Foley hasn't shown up yet. Neither has DSI Boyd. It's a little odd, wouldn't you say?"

Both Eve and Spencer didn't give him a second glance. Their focus was fully on Sarah, as Spencer slowly spoke. "DSI Boyd and Dr. Foley are on extended personal leaves, by order of the Commissioner and the Home Secretary. They are supposed to stay away for several weeks to recover from a personally difficult case we've finished recently."

"What?" Ari leaned forward in his chair, while Sarah leaned back in hers, pale like a sheet.

"Since when?" Jason almost squeaked.

"Dr. Foley was granted leave three weeks ago, DSI Boyd on Friday morning."

"This is a joke, isn't it?"

"No." Even though he tried hard to suppress it, Spencer was full of irony. "Don't tell me you didn't know."

* * *

It's funny how the atmosphere in a room can change because of one small thing. It certainly was true for the offices of the Metropolitan Police's Cold Case unit. For the last two hours, the place had been eerily silent, even though all hands were on deck, so to speak.

That wasn't entirely true; two vital members of the team were missing, on 'extended personal leave', and that made for the fact that everybody else was tiptoeing around in the offices. The officers and the scientist were doing their usual job, quietly, for what more was there to say? The agents, on the other hand, were still dealing with the shock and therefore silent as well.

The two men were torn between disbelief and anger at the way the case was going down the toilet. The two leading members of CCU off on leave left the unit severely compromised. The promised brilliant profiler, on whom they had placed quite a bit of hope, was not available.

What else could go wrong?

There was one question they both couldn't shake: who had known this beforehand? Neither Ari nor Jason believed that British officials had hidden CCU's situation while the arrangements were made; and if it had been known, who had insisted, and why?

Ari took a close look at his boss. He had had a feeling before coming here that for Sarah there was something personal at stake. He had known her for a few years, knew of her late husband, knew what it had done to her. He even knew of that Englishman she had dated for a while. He wasn't without sympathy for her plight, wished her could help her, but the way this was going he only saw failure ahead. She was mishandling badly, and if push came to shove, he'd have to testify exactly that. Sometimes, participating in an organization like theirs sucked.

Jason sat glued to a TV screen, though if his posture was any indication, close to blowing up in frustration. Most of the camera footage was damaged in one way or the other, making the task of wheedling through minutes and hours of grainy pictures or altogether interrupted tape an onerous task. He'd mentally moved on to simply getting on with the job, because otherwise he was certain he'd beat somebody up. At least he was quiet now, something his colleague was grateful for.

Sarah, on the other hand, sat by Jordan's desk and stared at the information board. Ari doubted she saw anything on it. Boyd's away on extended leave, Foley's away on extended leave. From what little information he had gathered about their future team mates, Ari could easily draw conclusions from this fact. It didn't take a genius to figure it out.

Normally, it wouldn't have been much of a problem, but with Sarah's personal interests playing into the situation, they'd have to brace for everything. It explained where she had been the night before, the blood shot eyes this morning that make-up couldn't quite cover.

The images on the screen in front of him weren't very appealing, but Ari went back to them nonetheless. One of them had to be on the ball.

"Oh bollocks!" Kat exclaimed after watching the first minutes of yet another tape that was partially damaged. "Can't there be one tape with footage we can use?"

"Which one do you have?" Spencer got up and walked over, followed by both Ari and Jason.

"The jewellery shop across the street. It wasn't even pointed directly to the square, but the shop window crashed because of the blast. Hit the lenses, then knocked it off it's place. Why do they have those cameras if they don't even put it up properly?"

"Save money concept. We save ourselves to death," Jason volunteered with a small smile.

Both Kat and Spencer gave him a surprised look, but then nodded and smiled as well.

"How many more do we have?" Jason asked.

"There were at least a dozen cameras on the square alone, because it's a special security area. There are about another 10 in the immediate vicinity."

"How many did we already cover?" Ari asked resignedly.

"Only five."

Chuckles sounding like exhales of frustration and exhaustion resounded in the room.

"I'd plead for lunch break, but it is barely 11," Kat finally said, to the grins of the three men.

"Let's find something first and then we'll go to the pub."

"Your shout, Spence?" Eve, who had just walked in, asked cheekily.

"Only if you have something constructive to tell me."

"Channelling somebody here, huh?" she teased.

Spencer smirked back. "And you don't?"

For a moment it looked like Eve would puff herself up, but she stayed silent and stared. Tension suddenly rose before the scientist and the DI broke into laughter. Kat grinned along, while the two Mossad-agents looked on in amused confusion.

"What was that all about?" Ari whispered to Kat.

She grinned slightly, before whispering back, "They are imitating. Boyd and Grace are like that all the time, if Boyd isn't shouting. No,..." She paused. "...They even do that when he's shouting."

Ari and Jason exchanged a long look.

"So, what do you have, Eve?" Spencer finally asked.

"I've just received a call from the team on the site. They could secure several clear tyre prints and one set looks like it's from a car starting off very urgently - machine roaring, tyres screeching, you get the picture. They say that from the size of the prints, it would have to be a van or a large estate car."

"Four-wheel, possibly?"

Eve shook her head. "Wouldn't make much sense. Those would need climbing in..."

"...Takes too long," Kat supplied.

There was a moment of silence as they contemplated what to do with this piece of information.

"Alright," Spencer finally started. "We'll go through all the tapes, see if any of them can be used without computer work. The others we'll send to IT-division. Kat," he ordered, "You'll find out which cameras would provide our best shot, so we'll send those first."

"What about me?" Eve asked, and without looking it was clear that she was spoiling for...something.

"You'll find me some blood stains that aren't from the established witnesses, so we can see if that car speeding off could have possibly held the bomber."

She nodded, mischief in her features. "The injured bomber, you mean. And then?"

"If you come up with anything that actually helps, I'll consider buying you lunch."

"I guess I should scavenge the snack machine then," she announced before the door fell shut behind her.

Kat rolled her eyes and turning to the other two men, she shrugged. "Told you."

* * *

With further trawling through CCTV-tapes and offering help in the lab, the day passed by surprisingly quickly. The mood improved between the agents and the CCU-members, with the odd joke thrown around.

The only one excluding herself from the proceedings was Sarah. Except for the progress reports, she had stayed out of the way, staring at the board, as if it would give her the answers they, she, sought.

On an intellectual level she knew that her behaviour looked bad, was bad - wholly unprofessional - but she couldn't help it. It was like juggling balls, then losing one and all the others going down as well.

The things she had set in motion...

It was all crashing down on her.

Even hours later she couldn't believe the bomb that Spencer Jordan had dropped. Boyd was on leave. It seemed like a cosmic joke to her. She had gone through all this trouble of justifying herself in front of her superiors, but even more so to herself that it was a strictly professional request to work with Boyd's team, and now it was only half of the team and the most important member was missing. On leave.

She looked like a fool now. Foolish and pathetic.

All day yesterday she had studiously avoided looking at and checking out Boyd's office, so nobody would get the idea she had a personal interest. She had even been strong enough not to ask about him, or Dr. Foley. Her evening trip she excused to herself with just wanting to say hello to an old friend and ask why he didn't see fit to come to work.

It was all an excuse, naturally, and it only worked so long. Now the facts were on the table, and fact was that Boyd been given the right and the chance to disappear. Something he had done instantly. Ironically mere hours before her arrival. Somebody on higher planes must really be laughing at her.

With the self-reproach came determination, though, for Sarah was nothing if not determined. Her conversation with Sam came back to her mind, his special words at the end, the way he looked. She was avoiding to analyse what his words and his expressions meant, didn't want to think about Samuel Rosenberg. Self-reproach was always closely connected to him. For various reasons.

Sam was one of the reasons why she had to go through all the way. He had gone out on a limb for her, as he always did. Their superiors didn't think much of her and it was only due to Sam that she was still working the agency and received as much leeway as she did. It would be unfair to him professionally not to give her best and secure a success.

On a personal level she owed him too. Sarah knew that. He'd been a fixture in her life since her youth and more than once there had been that line they came close to but didn't cross. He'd always left the decision to her, never put pressure on her. There were so many mixed up feelings in this and as he was growing...older, he deserved that she, finally, made up her mind what she wanted.

She needed to make an effort. On the case and on Boyd. Quite possibly about Grace Foley as well. Going down that line of thought was easy; the profiler too much of a fixture in Boyd's life not to assume, but there was still and always the possibility that Grace's absence was only coinciding with Peter's.

She needed to be sure. For that, however, she needed to talk to Boyd.

* * *

In another corner of the room, Ari and Jason were whispering quietly.

"Look, Jason, it doesn't matter how the situation looks and it doesn't even matter whether Sarah still knows why we are here. We want to prevent further bombings, catch the guys responsible."

"That's what I mean," Jason hissed. "Jordan's alright, Howard and Lockhart too, but we got this team because they have that great track record of success. I did my homework too, and while those guys are definitely alright, most of their success is down to that profiler and Boyd. We're settled with the junior people, while the senior officers are gallivanting around somewhere. It's ridiculous!"

"What do you want me to do? Phone Tel Aviv and tell them to organise another unit?"

Jason released an angry breath. He know just as well as Ari that they couldn't admit to this kind of embarrassment.

"If we had Boyd and Foley here..."

"_Extended leave to recover from a personally difficult case_. You heard the man. If it involved physical injuries...and in the case of Foley, it sounds like it..."

"They could advise. At least kick Sarah's ass in gear again. She's been totally off the game."

"So what do you think I should do?"

"Find them, of course!"

* * *

Thank you for reading. Comments are greatly appreciated.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Hey everybody, here we have a new chapter...and those of you who were hoping for some B/G-goodness...I guess, this is your chapter. Once again, Boyd is domestic, which is a scary concept to begin with, but that's how it is. Hope, you enjoy. Many thanks go out to ShadowSamurai83 for the beta...

Enjoy reading.

* * *

**Chapter VI**

Unlike most hospitals in the country, the A&E department in this one was quiet and well-ordered. Few running nurses and emergency physicians, even fewer nervous relatives. This relative calm was mostly caused by the fact that they usually had patients transferred for special treatments and/or recovery. Add to that a fairly exclusive price tag and things became obvious.

It was a quiet place with a relaxed working atmosphere. The location was incredible, the grounds bordering on a cliff overlooking the English channel, the weather mild. All in all, it was perfect. A good place for peace and recovery.

The man being wheeled into the A&E looked as if he was in desperate need of this kind of care. There were burns of varying intensity all over his upper body, open wounds that seemed to stem from cuts as well. The overall impression was nasty.

The physician in charge of the A&E seemed to agree, judging from his scowl. He took one look at the new patient and frowned deeply.

"When did the accident happen?" he asked tersely.

The two men accompanying the patient didn't answer.

"Where has this man been treated so far?"

Once again, the two men didn't answer.

"Can you at least give me his name?"

This time, there was a reply, though it was only muttered.

The doctor, not willing to waste any more time on conversing with the relatives while the patient desperately needed care, turned towards the treatment room.

"Idiots," he muttered quietly. "Home care for injuries like that! Idiots."

He didn't reach the door to the treatment room, suddenly finding himself crowded against the wall.

The two men, suddenly quite talkative, hissed a few words of information and command. Their English, though well developed, was heavily accented, their posture one of aggression. "You'll treat our uncle. You'll treat him well!"

"We do this with all patients," the doctor countered, though his voice didn't sound as strong as before.

Instead of an answer, the two men closed in on him even further.

"The injuries are several days old. You should have brought him earlier," he ventured bravely.

"You'll treat him. We watch."

"You can't come in the treatment room."

"We watch you!"

* * *

"Are you warm enough?" Boyd asked for the tenth time in as many minutes. "Do you need to sit down?"

Next to him, Grace threw him an exasperated look and heaved a sigh. She didn't answer.

He stopped, turning so that he was effectively blocking her path. "Are you sure?"

"As sure as I was every time you've asked me since we started. I'm alright, Boyd. If I feel ill, you'll be the first to know, believe me." Her reply came out a little harsher than intended, but she felt a little bit like under a microscope and on top of everything else it was just that bit too much. Placing a soothing hand against his chest, she smiled. "Please, it's going to happen soon enough. Let's not push it, okay?"

Boyd nodded, instantly placated, and called back on the reasons why they were out here.

So far the treatments hadn't been too bad. Grace felt nauseous afterwards and food had already lost quite a bit of its appeal, but there had been no sick spells yet. She wasn't cold and she wasn't weak either. Yet.

The cloud hung over them, though, just waiting to open up and confront them with the ugly truth. It was the wait for the inevitable and that made them both antsy. So much, in fact, that they had fled the hospital and gone for a walk by the coast. The doctor wasn't happy about it, but Grace was formidable in her stubbornness, even in a hospital bed.

Boyd noticed it with an inward grin, relieved that her glare wasn't directed at him. From the ringside, it looked all the more impressive what he was subjected to on occasion. Still, when it came to Grace, he was very willing to throw around a few glares as well and if that doctor annoyed her, then hell would be paid.

In the end, the man was hopelessly outnumbered by two people with the obstinacy of four. He never stood a chance and reluctantly allowed the tour off the grounds.

Walking in the strong winds coming up from the sea, Boyd wasn't so sure any more that this was a good idea. The air was nippy at best, the winds strong, and even at her best times, Grace was a small person. Worriedly, he eyed her.

"We can always turn back, you know."

"I know," she replied, the exasperation not completely replaced by a gentle smile. "It's invigorating out here. Open air and space. It's good to be out."

Linking their arms, Grace slowly forced them into walking again. There was a contentment on her face that Boyd hadn't seen for a few days.

"You getting cabin fever already?"

"I just have too much time to think, assess my body for any small change, any sign that the side effects are setting in." Grinning slightly, she turned towards him again. "It also gives me too much time to notice how intensely you are hovering over me. You aren't really subtle."

He wanted to bristle, deny it out loud, even shout a little just for the normalcy of it, but didn't. "Somebody needs to make sure you do what you are told."

"Says the man who sees orders only as an invitation to ignore them." Grace chuckled, but stopped suddenly, the jerky movements upsetting her stomach. Her fingers on Boyd's arm tightened like a vice, no way he could not notice.

In a quick movement, he gathered her in his arms, soothingly stroking her back and providing the strength to lean on. "You okay?" he rasped, inane even to his own ears.

She grimaced shortly, but nodded. There was a smile on her face that didn't completely mask her unease. "I was just imagining you as the pot that calls the kettle black literally. Image didn't go down too well."

"That's not funny."

In her eyes, the imp was back. "It was to me."

* * *

"You've stayed out for too long," the nurse exclaimed, throwing an annoyed look at the clock on the wall. "And your lips are blue. Going out in weather like this was wholly irresponsible! She could catch a cold and where would we be then?"

Grace rolled her eyes but said nothing as she slowly and somewhat painfully climbed into her bed.

"You should have been more careful, keep her from going out! She's not well enough to gallivant in the country side! Honestly, men!" The nurse ranted on, this time directed at Boyd, who stood about a foot inside the room, partly annoyed at being scolded like a school boy, partly too worried to pay much attention.

He was out of breath, a reminder that he really should work out more, if he didn't want to fall into the feeble, overweight old man category any time soon. In typical Grace-fashion, she had overexerted herself or lied to him about her true condition. He was never sure with her. In the end, she was barely able to put one foot in front of the other, her body shaking from cold and exhaustion, and he had been forced to carry her back into the building.

Apart from the embarrassing testimony to his weakness, it worried him just how slight she was. Granted, he'd never made the personal acquaintance with the intimate details of her body, something that was a bit of a regret as well, but surely she couldn't have been this light before, could she?

Now her complexion appeared pale and breakable like porcelain, and the way she shivered gave him pangs.

"She okay?" he rasped out.

"She will be when we've gotten her warmed up again." The nurse shook her head. "I'll be back with some hot broth and tea." Bustling out, she closed the door a little more forcefully than she probably needed to.

In her bed, Grace looked both annoyed with her treatment and queasy at the prospect of food. "They should say beforehand that you have to give up all your logical thinking and decision making. I'm not a child." The effect of her grumping was diminished, however, by the way her teeth chattered with her words.

"She's right, you know," Boyd replied and took a few quick steps over to the bed. Pulling another woollen blanket from the small chest before the bed, he solicitously placed it over the sheets and blankets already covering Grace. With unnecessary care, he adjusted the edges, pulled them over her shoulders and gently pushed her back into the pillows. "It was reckless of us to go so far and in that weather. Imagine if it had started to rain."

"It was sunny, Boyd, the entire time."

"Still..."

"You are worse than the nurses."

He huffed, more for show than anything else. "Somebody has to watch over you."

Grace only grimaced.

* * *

He carefully climbed off the bed. He was a bit stiff in his limbs, but the position hadn't been exactly comfortable. It wasn't bad enough, though, that he was willing to give up the establishing nightly ritual.

It was hugely and worryingly domestic, the way it happened every night. He kept her company during dinner, and had some himself at her insistence and the nurse's ignorance of his protests. Then he took a short walk while she took care of her nightly cleaning ritual. That women could take so long and make something almost sacred out of applying some sort of cleaning fluid and cream to their faces was something he'd never understand, but in one of his rare bright moments of understanding women, he realized that she needed the normalcy of the ritual along with the mental and physical privacy it allowed her. In a place like this, you probably needed it more than anything.

Afterwards and when the staff finally left them alone, they settled down in and on her bed, him usually holding her while they watched something inane, but soothing on TV. Usually documentaries. Usually something travel or nature. If nothing else, their stint here would do wonders for his education. Card games or something hadn't held much appeal, especially as she had cleaned him out the first evening. The triumphantly amused smile had been a little too much for his ego. Nightly reading sessions didn't appeal to him either. There was too much physical distance between them.

Boyd didn't bother to analyse what all this meant. If Grace wanted, she would probably give him a step by step explanation why they behaved the way they did, why he was hovering like a nervous mother hen. She wouldn't touch on the real reason, of course, neither would he. He was here because it was his place to be now, that was the explanation he was willing to give.

It would have to suffice for anybody asking as well. The why would remain unanswered, for now, possibly forever. He couldn't give a why anyway. It was just right for him to be where he was.

"Mr. Boyd." A night nurse approached him. "Ms. Foley asleep now?"

He nodded with a tight smile.

"Good." The nurse smiled. Boyd liked her, she wasn't as much of a dragon as some of her colleagues. Reminded him of Stella a bit, in her looks at least. "She needs the rest after your little excursion today."

In reply, Boyd only grunted.

With a wider smile the nurse nodded. Then she turned serious. "You should go home as well. Get some rest. Sleep."

"No."

"You've been here every night since Ms. Foley was admitted. It's not healthy for you either to go without proper rest for days. You're no good to her if you break down."

"I need to be here in case she wakes up. She gets nightmares, you know, might be frightened if she wakes up and doesn't see me."

"Ms. Foley is a strong woman and very smart. I'm sure she can imagine why you are not sprawled out in a frankly uncomfortable chair, producing a crick in your neck."

Stubbornly, Boyd shook his head. "You don't understand. Last time I left her alone in a hospital..."

The nurse shook her head with an indulgent smile and then turned away. Boyd looked after her and then began what had been _his_ nightly ritual ever since they arrived. With his eyes seemingly everywhere, he checked doors, windows, hallways. Nobody would march into _this_ hospital and threaten or harm his Grace.

The nurse might have been more correct than he wanted to admit. He was exhausted; their brisk walk and the later exertion of having to carry Grace back to the hospital had taken out a lot more of him than he had imagined. Maybe the nights without proper sleep were catching up with him as well. He was really getting too old for this.

Wearily he trudged through the hallways, feeling forlorn and tired. This was only the beginning. Things would get worse. A lot worse.

Rubbing his eyes tiredly, he paid little attention to the man sitting in a chair and staring out of a window. The man, however, followed his every move with his eyes.

* * *

"Promise me, Boyd!" Grace exclaimed as they approached the door to the treatment room. "You look like hell, to be honest."

"Thank you very much," he groused.

"Go to the hotel, take a long shower, have some decent food, and then go to bed and sleep."

"And leave you here?" He shook his head and tightened his hold on her hand.

Exasperatedly, Grace turned to him. "I'm going to be stuck in the treatment for at least two hours and then one of the nurses will escort me back to my room where I will very earnestly try to sleep through the nausea spells. I'm not going to be much company anyway. You can go. Besides,..." Her smile turned into that shade that Boyd had come to fear. It was just this kind of predatory, triumphant and superior smirk that made his hackles rise. If it had come from any other than Grace, he'd have punched that person. No questions asked.

Unfortunately, she was developing that into a fine art and he was in no position to complain. The woman was too smart for her own good. And for his.

"Besides what?" he asked in defeat.

"Imagine the kids come to visit and you look worse than I do. They're going think we just made this up to cover our hokey-pokey."

"Grace!" he spluttered, exasperated and completely in disbelief that she would say something like that.

Behind her, the nurse and the doctor already waiting worked hard to suppress their snickers, which Boyd noticed very well. The death glare was on in full force, sending the two staff members scurrying back inside the treatment room.

Grace's hand on his shoulder brought his focus immediately back. "Please, Peter, go to the hotel and get some rest. I don't want you to make yourself ill over me. I'd feel much better if I knew you had at least a few hours of rest in a decent bed. I don't think the chair in my room or the sofa in the family lounge are comfortable enough. Please."

If she put it like this, how could he refuse? With an overly drawn out sigh, he agreed and turned away to leave. A few yards away, he turned and caught a last assuring nod and smile from Grace before she entered the treatment room. She was worse than a wife...really.

Still heaving a sigh at that thought, he rounded the corner and before he knew why and what for, instinct took over.

There was a man there and though Boyd had been only half-aware of things the night before, this he had registered. In the blink of an eye, he had grabbed the man and pushed him against a wall, crowding him.

"Who are you? And what business do you have in watching me like this?"

* * *

Thank you for reading. Comments would be greatly appreciated.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: So, a new chapter and Boyd goes all protective. Well, everybody goes all protective. Hope you enjoy that. Many thanks to everybody who is still reading and commenting - encouragement really goes a long way (and I could use some). Many thanks goes - as always - to ShadowSamurai83 for the beta.

Enjoy.

* * *

**Chapter VII**

"Who are you? And why are you following me like this?" Boyd ground out and crowded the man further against the wall.

"What are you doing? I'm just a visitor."

"Yeah, right. Sitting here all night watching me? I don't think so!" With his grip tightening on the man's collar, Boyd leaned in close. "So talk, fast!"

The man stared at him and shook his head. "You bastard! Think you are all alone in the world, huh? I'd think that with your lady being here like this, you'd know how it is!"

Boyd stopped short, drew back and stared at the stranger with wide eyes. The words were like a punch in the gut. "Your wife too?" he choked out.

The other stared back, his expression just as surprised as Boyd's. "Your wife?"

Boyd didn't answer, taking a few deep breaths. "What's she got?" he choked out finally.

Ari, sizing up his opponent, swallowed. His words had been a verbal stab in the dark to throw the other man off, but so much more had come out than he had expected. He couldn't really answer that, could he? Finding the elusive DSI was one thing, discovering the wayward profiler a bonus, but what had come to light was a little more than he had been prepared for. He couldn't lie now.

"I'm sorry," he managed to get out.

Boyd stared at him, not understanding the answer. His thought process was mush, the thoughts tumbling and rushing over each other. He had forgotten that others lived the same nightmare. Other people going through the same worries, agony. Was it really so odd that a man sat alone in a hospital hallway at night, away and yet close to the loved one who suffered and who he couldn't help? How long would it be until it was him sitting there, not daring to be in the room, not being able to hold it together any more? How long...?

"I'm sorry," the stranger muttered again, his tanned face pale, his hands clenching at his sides. Seeing the opening on the side, Ari pushed away and almost ran down the hallway until he was outside. "Shit!"

In the building, Boyd still stood in the exact same spot, staring into nothingness.

"Mr. Boyd, please, Ms. Foley really wants you to go and get some sleep. I can't go in there and tell her you are still here. She'll have my head." The nurse was apologetic, nervous and polite in one, and even though her words didn't get through, Boyd started moving - woodenly - towards the exit.

* * *

"More than I expected, I guess." Ari was still shaken as he leaned against the concrete, jerkily puffing his cigarette. "I felt like a right idiot! Or a jerk! Or both."

"So, you found him?" Jason quietly asked, as they were standing outside the door having a smoke. Back from his trip, Ari hadn't said much, his face showing some inner turmoil.

"Yeah, her too. She's in hospital, getting cancer treatment and he's...well..." Ari shrugged.

"Oh." Jason ran a hand over his face, while Ari shook his head.

"He's definitely not coming back for the time being then." Jason tipped a bit of ash away, leaning against the building.

"Can't see it."

"What about the boss?"

There was no answer, but the look on Ari's face said it all. He was still reeling from the encounter. All the way back, the words had turned in his head, the thought of his own family coming unbidden. He was too soft at times, he knew that, but did you trouble somebody with this on his plate, because you thought his replacement wasn't up to a job?

"Nothing," he said finally. "We tell her nothing. We don't say anything to anybody."

Jason nodded. After a moment he looked over his shoulder. "We make do then?"

"No." Ari smiled. "We do our best. It's why we are here."

At this, Jason raised his cigarette in a mock toast and chuckled. "Here's to a job well done."

* * *

"I was able to identify a dozen more splatters of blood. That brings our total of traces identified up to 30," Eve announced. "However," she thwarted all joyful reactions, "witness statements say that there were at least 40 people in the house to attend the prayer. All identified traces match known members of the community."

"So, we can't still say if a stranger was in the building and if he or she was injured," Sarah asked quietly.

"For the most part, no," Kat replied. "But we have a statement from one of the attendees who said that there was a man in the anteroom who he had never seen before."

"Did he give a description?" Spencer asked urgently while everybody else leaned forward as well.

Kat went through her notes and shook her head. " A man, of average height and with dark hair."

"That only fits about two thirds of London's male population I'd wager," Eve drawled sarcastically.

"Any joy with the tapes then?"

"The techs promised to send them back as quickly as possible," Spencer announced. "The case is given high priority and we are put on the fast track with everything we require."

"Doesn't make them work faster." That was Jason again.

"Our equipment isn't that fancy. The machines only work this fast."

Tension was about to mount at the barbs exchanged, but it was interrupted by Spencer getting up and starting to pace slowly in front of the board. "You said a few days ago that you know who is responsible..."

"Yes," Ari answered.

"How do you know it was that group or that person? There is no special m.o. to the event; typical materials, typical script. It could be anybody."

"No, it's the same group as before!" Sarah got up from her seat as well, her words leaving no room for arguments.

Eve, catching on where Spencer was going, didn't heed the dangerous note in Sarah's voice. "Is there a letter of confession, then? Or a tape? Anything that clearly identifies this group? Because then we could stop salivating for all those video tapes and blood splatters."

"Exactly." Spencer stopped in front of Sarah. Though it wasn't much, he felt comfortable in the fact that she had to look up to him a little. "If it is so certain that we are looking for a limited number of people, why are we trawling through the groundwork of finding people involved? Why don't you dispense with the classified bullshit and lay out the information we need to catch those people?"

"Because it _is_ classified, DI Jordan, and you are in no position to make demands!"

"No?" The sarcasm in Spence's voice was not lost on anybody. "Why not? From where I stand, I have every right to ask. And every right to an answer." He started counting off the individual points with his fingers. "We don't have a letter of confession. We don't have information on the group supposedly responsible for this - either because you don't want to give it, or because you don't have it. Personally, I believe in the latter, because if you did, you wouldn't rely on us trawling through forensics like that..."

"What does that mean?" Sarah drawled back, he hackles rising at the thinly veiled accusation.

"It means that you have no tangible proof that we are looking for 'your guys'. You have nothing in your hands, which is why you have to rely on us, and we will therefore look at all angles. We do things the police way and eliminate all impossibilities. And we start by finding out if this isn't just an imitation, or even a coincidence..."

"Forget it! You're just here to..."

"Help? Looks to me as if _you_ aren't helping, Ms. Levin!"

"I beg your pardon?" Sarah drew back, her shoulders squaring the frown on her face deepening in anger. The others stared on flabbergasted. Nobody commented.

"So far, it's been us who did the work. Your two colleagues have at least helped with the groundwork when they could be bothered amidst their belittling, but what is it you did?" Spencer was on a roll, the rush of speaking his mind and not caring what happened afterwards like an adrenaline fix. Maybe Boyd knew something he hadn't yet considered. Taking another step forward, he was almost nose to nose with Sarah. "I'll tell you what you have done. Nothing. Nothing at all."

* * *

"Is there a problem?" As soon as Ralph Christie stepped into the office of the CCU, he could see the uselessness of his question. The stand-off between DI Jordan and Sarah Levin would have been recognisable to anybody.

He didn't know any particulars, didn't even want to hear them, but rumours that the case wasn't going well and some people in 'very important places' were feeling very antsy about the goings on had reached his ears. By way of Assistant Director Creighton, who had _carefully_ inquired whether there were any troubles. Subtlety really wasn't the man's strength.

What really counted was the end result, but in cases like this they usually took some time, due to the many possibilities and forensics. Christie knew Boyd's team well, they had their reputation for a reason. But exactly this meticulousness took time, rushing brought no result whatsoever.

There had been word that the two teams didn't get along, the Mossad agents throwing around their superiority without proving their worth. DI Jordan was a Boyd-trainee, he'd have very little time for this kind of behaviour. Insofar, the stand off he was walking into didn't surprise him.

The vehemence, though, did. Jordan looked as mad as a hatter, Levin ready to burst. The rest of both teams appeared shell-shocked.

Shaking his head, Christie pulled up his DAC-personality and authoritatively called, "DI Jordan! DC Howard! Dr. Lockhart! A word, please." Without waiting for a reaction, he marched through the stand-off into Boyd's office. That, more than anything, seemed to get people moving.

Christie expected Boyd's office to lack a personal touch that he used to associate with Dr. Foley's office, which was why this one would be much better for his task. However, on the end table next to the sofa, there was an assortment of books, bookmarks haphazardly hanging out of them, a themed tissue box, even a slightly off-colour cushion on the sofa. Christie eyed it all with a hard swallow. So much for no personality.

"I repeat, is there a problem?" he asked again once the door was closed.

The CCU team didn't answer, exchanging poignant looks.

"DI Jordan?"

Spencer drew himself straighter. "Nothing we can't handle."

"They not doing their share?"

"We can handle it, sir!"

"But?" Christie smiled. It was the kind of conversation he had expected. The team would never admit to trouble, wanting to prove that they could do it without their parental figures. It was amusing and frustrating at the same time and Ralph Christie really felt for both sides.

Jordan looked as if he simply didn't want to answer, but DC Howard, young, brash and not yet always in control of her reactions, had no such qualms. "Why us? And why them, sir? Everybody knew that Boyd and Grace wouldn't be here. Everybody except them." She gestured to the agents outside with her head. "They act like we don't know what we are doing, but don't have a clue by themselves. And they really expected both Boyd and Dr. Foley to be here."

"Kat, the timing was just off," Eve interrupted, the words explaining an entire world. "We can handle it." Her gaze then turned to their superior, daring him to deny their abilities. Christie didn't even think of it.

"Very well. DC Howard, maybe you can get that lot there back to work? I think you have an assassin to catch. I'd just like a private word with DI Jordan and Dr. Lockhart."

Kat didn't look happy being dismissed, but Eve had explained that Christie knew both Grace and Boyd and assumed he wanted to ask about Grace's condition. She didn't like it, but was actually somewhat relieved to be left out of the familial talk. It wasn't really her thing. With a shrug, she left and carefully closed the door.

Inside the office, Christie turned, quietly noticing all the knickknacks that didn't fit Boyd, but the profiler, who seemed to use the office as some sort of storage space. "How are they?" he finally asked.

Both Spencer and Eve shrugged. "They aren't saying much. But it's going okay, I think."

"Side effects?"

"They haven't said," Spencer replied.

"Grace wouldn't want to worry us and Boyd simply wouldn't talk," Eve added with a smile.

Christie smiled knowingly as well. "How are they...with each other?"

"Good." That was Eve, her smile widening. "They are doing good."

"Good. Good." Christie nodded several times, unsure how much he could and should really say. It was a bit of an awkward situation. "Give them my best the next time you see...call them."

"We will, sir. Thank you."

They stood there in slightly easing awkwardness for a minute or so, before Eve made a decisive gesture and left "to tend to the forensics so they could see a result soon."

In the silence that remained in the office, Spencer shifted from one foot to the other. "Uhm...sir? There is one thing..."

The DAC gave him his full attention. "Yes, what is it?"

"I was wondering...what exactly is the chain of command for this case? To which point are we supposed to defer to Ms. Levin and her colleagues?"

"Please elaborate, Inspector."

Spencer swallowed. His position was an uneasy one. He had a bad feeling about the way the case was going and their 'colleagues' were behaving, but voicing those feelings could easily be construed as undermining authority. "Well...Ms. Levin and her team are very focussed on a final result. From what I understand, this result is the elimination of the threat..."

"Yes, but that is our goal as well, wouldn't you agree, DI Jordan?"

"In the general sense, I would. But I have the feeling that their idea of eliminating the threat differs from our goal."

"In what way?"

"We want to find the people responsible, arrest them and let them receive their proper judicial punishment. I'm getting the impression that Ms. Levin's team intend to define the proper judicial punishment themselves." Spencer gave Christie a pointed stare. "How far do I, do we, have to follow them?" Taking a few steps closer intensified the meaning of his words, just as lowering his voice did. "Will the Met and the Home Office turn a blind eye, if the Mossad takes justice out of its proper course? And do they expect me to silently go along?"

Christie heavily leaned back against the table. What answer was he supposed to give?

* * *

From her point of view, she could only see worried face and quiet and intense conversation taking place in the office. Kat had come out and simply resumed going through video tapes again. Ari and Jason joined her, all three now glued to their screens.

Eve Lockhart had left the office, not giving anybody a look.

It was mysterious, the mood deteriorating quickly. Sarah knew it wasn't going well, and even worse, she knew that both Ari and Jason agreed with Spencer. Their secrecy was halting the case, Jason had been quite clear in their discussion the night before. If they wanted a result, they _had_ to work together. They needed the input, the entirety of their knowledge put together on that board.

Before she gave up their secrets, Sarah would have liked to discuss things, though, preferably with Boyd. It wasn't just personal any more. She wanted, no _needed_, to bounce off ideas off him. They simply needed to talk.

Coming to a decision, Sarah quietly got up and went outside. The hallway was empty, thankfully, as she pulled out her mobile and dialled the familiar number. It didn't surprise her that she only reached the voice mail. Boyd was a hard man to catch these days.

"Hello, Peter. It's Sarah. I know, you are surprised to hear from me, but when you hear this, would you please call me back. Thank you."

As she shut off the phone, Sarah drew a deep breath. There was nothing for it but go for it.

* * *

Thank you for reading. Comments would be greatly appreciated.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: So, I'm back again...and I guess, I should put a warning on this chapter. ShadowSamurai83 (thank you for the beta!) said I'm evil...I guess, I am. Enjoy, nonetheless.

* * *

**Chapter VIII**

The office hours dragged on, two days going by with the same routine; waiting for identified forensics and trawling through video tapes. At least they had a somewhat better idea of what they were looking for now, as the day before, Jason and Ari had marched in and opened manila folders containing information about the group they had identified as being responsible. After apparently much discussion, Sarah had finally agreed to share what they knew.

It wasn't much.

If not even the Mossad was able to gather more, there probably was none. The realization didn't help, they still needed to find their targets.

The CCTV-pictures from JFK-airport were sharp, but didn't give a clear facial image. It showed two men of Arabic looks, but this could mean anything and nothing. As Kat pointed out, there was no guarantee that just because they had contact with the bomber in New York, they'd have contact with the bomber in London, or that one of them was it. It could all be coincidence.

Falsely accusing people because their ethnic looks was and would be a nightmare in terms of public reaction. Neither agency could afford it. To add to the problems, neither picture connected to any known name. Jason had taken to going through passenger lists on all arriving flights during the time in question, but with no names to go on it was a time consuming and tedious effort that only increased his frustration.

At least Sarah's mood was lifting slightly, which was something of a surprise. Nobody dared to question though, why. As long as it lasted, why bother?

"Eve says the main explosive material used was PETN," Spencer said, after he put the receiver down. "That's the same as in New York..."

"Yes, it's getting back into fashion. Easy to obtain and can easily be used as a part of plastic explosives," Sarah commented.

"Easy to get, easy to use. A bomber's dream," Jason snarled.

"Only this one didn't get the dream ending, did he?" Spencer even had a smile on his face.

"What do you mean?"

"Eve says she has at least one unidentified blood sample that came from inside the prayer house. There was somebody else in the house during the explosion..."

"...Which must be the bomber..."

"And he was injured in the blast."

"But that means he somehow managed to get away from the site, despite his injury," Ari put in.

"Yes, but we already know that there was a car involved. A van or an estate car. That's what we are looking for on the tapes," Kat put in.

"True, but maybe we are too focussed on just that," Spencer put in. "We know for certain that there was an additional injured person on the site who has not been treated by any unit we checked. But if he was injured, even if it isn't our suspect, he needed to be treated somewhere."

"Check the hospitals," Kat chimed in and turned to pick up the phone before Spencer could even say it. The DI smiled indulgently and nodded.

* * *

It turned out to be the activity of the day. Hospitals, surgeries, private practices. Phone calls, lists of possible patients collated. In the afternoon, both teams went out, Sarah with Ari and Kat, while Spencer took Jason to check up on individual patients.

It was a wild goose chase all over London, it seemed. Nobody knew anything tangible, hadn't seen anybody. The people they saw didn't match the description, vague as it was.

The next hospital, the next surgery, there was always the same result. None.

Frustrating didn't cover the situation and it surprised the teams that Sarah didn't seem to be bothered by it very much. In fact, her mood was so good it was surreal.

"Please tell me you've got something, _anything_ for us, Eve," Spencer almost bellowed into his phone just before starting his car in the afternoon after leaving yet another private practice. Next to him, Jason flopped into the car seat and looked for all it was worth as if he would punch the dashboard.

"No joy, Spence," Eve replied. "The computer is still cross-referencing. And you know that chances are our man isn't registered yet."

"Don't you have anything positive? Produce me something good, Eve!"

* * *

"Yes, oh mighty one!" Eve sarcastically drawled at the phone, once Spencer had hung up. She couldn't make the machines work any faster, and cross-referencing a DNA-sample to all databases she had access to simply took a while, considering the vast number of files they had on.

Craving for a break, she fished out her pack of cigarettes and lit up. Taking a few draws, she looked at the phone, found it mocking her. With renewed determination, Eve picked it up and dialled the number, written down next to her main work table. There was a smile firmly etched on her face.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Grace." The smile turned wider.

"Oh, hi, Eve."

Her voice sounded odd, a little downtrodden, really, but maybe she had just woken up from a nap and needed a few moments to catch her bearings. "Hi. How are you?"

"I'm alright." A pause. "You?"

"It's been better, but I'm good. Work's a pain, but you know how it is." There was still a smile on Eve's face, but she felt the words becoming awkward as she spoke them. The first impression became a little stronger.

"How did today's treatment go?"

"It was alright. Took a while."

"Problems?"

"No."

Now she started to worry. While Grace didn't exactly lay out every detail of her treatment, she never was this short. "Side effects getting to you today?"

On the other end, Grace smiled, but it wasn't a convincing one. "I can manage."

"But how do you feel?"

"A little tired, I guess. Cabin fever or something. It gets a little dull when you only see two rooms every day."

At this, Eve chuckled a little, imagining how she'd feel being stuck in a hospital for days and weeks. "Boyd's not exactly Mr. Entertainment, is he?"

There was another pause and in the scientist's mind it didn't take a genius to figure out what that meant. "Did you two have a fight?" she probed carefully.

"No. No, we didn't fight. He's really trying hard to help, wears himself down with it." Grace paused again, her sigh audible through the phone. "The nurses think he'll need to be admitted from exhaustion soon."

"The man's obsessive, you know."

"I do. Professional hazard."

They both snorted.

"Is Boyd there?"

"No." Grace's voice was halting. "I finally got him to take a break. He's gone home, I guess. Probably shows up at the office tomorrow or so."

"Okay..."

The chat went on from that, awkwardly in its pauses and short lines. Grace didn't want to talk, her demeanour made that clear, but at the same time she sounded so desperately alone that Eve was loath to cut the connection. Besides, she just didn't know how to do it without sounding brash or dismissive. Living people in emotional stress weren't really her thing. That's what Grace was there for.

As she put the receiver down after a drawn out, embarrassed goodbye, Eve shook her head and lit up a new cigarette.

Somehow, a few pieces of the puzzle were beginning to fall into place, and she didn't like it one bit.

* * *

The teams returned just before closing time, as it were, Spencer and Kat, as well as Ari and Jason, frustratedly falling into their chairs. Sarah, still in a strangely good mood, just waved them goodbye, citing an urgent appointment.

Its what you get for being boss, huh? Eve drawled sarcastically as she entered the squad room and found Sarah missing, while everybody else got up from their chairs with a groan and started to tidy papers for the next day.

It took a while of Eve loitering and drinking coffee before Spencer took the hint and pulled her aside.

"What's going on?" he asked urgently. "I know we haven't been able to turn up anything yet and with the computers working as slowly as they do it is a pain in the arse, but that's not it, is it? Something wrong with Grace?"

Shaking her head, Eve affectionately squeezed Spencer's shoulder. He could be a pain, often enough was, but these days they all pulled together as a family and Spencer's question proved it.

"Is she alright?" Kat asked quietly as well, making sure the Mossad agents couldn't hear them.

"Don't know. She sounded a bit off."

"It was a treatment day, wasn't it?"

"Yeah, it was, but she said it went alright." Eve shook her head. "It was odd, really."

"Still, it was a treatment day," Spencer insisted, not wanting to entertain any different thought. If he did, he might have to blame Boyd, and Grace would have his hide for that. "The side effects..."

"Grace would have downplayed that, not been so despondent. She'd have talked and joked around. It's something different." The more she thought about it, Eve was convinced.

"Something wrong?" Ari interrupted their hushed conversation. "Do we have news?"

Forcing a smile onto her face, Kat shook her head. "Eve's got bugger all. It's like there is nothing and nobody to be found today."

"Looks like it," Ari agreed, though his own smile lacked sincerity. He could imagine what the other team were whispering about, knew they wouldn't consider sharing it. In a way, he regretted it. The encounter with Boyd had given him a lot to think about, the carelessly thrown out words stinging in his conscious. What would he do in the other mans shoes? How would he feel?

With a subtle shake of his head, he told Jason to leave it be, walk away and busy themselves with the meagre results of the day. They could rule out a number of hospitals, their man wasnt treated in any of them, or hadnt been there. Of course, there was the possibility that their suspect had been taken away from London where he was somewhat easily traceable. If that was the case, chances would be incredibly slim that they could find him in a reasonable amount of time. From this point of view, Ari was almost certain, their man was no longer in London.

It would be a lot easier if we knew which car they used. If hes no longer in town, we could at least trace the car, Jason quietly complained.

Yeah, otherwise its gonna be the proverbial needle in the haystack, Spencer agreed, having left his whispered conversation with Eve and Kat.

A break would be really nice, Kat continued, though she left open which kind of break she meant.

Pub? Eve asked with an indulgent smile.

Sounds good to me.

Turning to the others, Eve raised her voice. Are you coming along?

Ari and Jason nodded eagerly, glad to face an evening in different company than their own. They both were a little annoyed at how quickly Sarah had left earlier. Leaving the lower ranks with the tidying was one thing, but this wasn't to par with Sarah's usual uber-correct style, and it made them suspicious.

"I'll take this load out and then our part is done," Ari offered, leaving the offices with a cardboard container full of papers.

Spencer looked after him, nodded and then pushed and placed papers in order on his desk.

A few minutes later, he looked up and around and nodded again. "Let's go. I'd say we are done cleaning for the day..."

"Are you sure about that? This place looks like a pigsty." The man was standing in the middle of the squad room as if he owned it and while he looked both more relaxed and more exhausted than usual, he filled the room to overflowing with his person.

Everybody turned towards the voice, shock evident in faces and postures, though they relaxed somewhat after a few moments.

Kat caught herself first. "Hello, Sir," she greeted friendlily.

"Kat." Boyd stepped forward and shook the DC's hand. "How are you?"

"I'm good, Sir. You?"

Boyd gave her a surprisingly gentle smile. "I'm good. Really."

"That's good to hear," Eve announced and moved to embrace the her boss. "Hello, Boyd."

"Eve." He took the scientist in his arms and gently hugged her. "Thanks, Eve. For everything," he whispered in her hair.

"Any time," Eve whispered back before relinquishing her place to Spencer for a manly handshake, which didn't lack in warmth nonetheless.

From his point of view in the back of the scene, Jason observed the proceedings keenly. He'd seen both Lockhart's and Jordan's faces upon Boyd's arrival. They weren't too happy about it. And somehow, he could guess why that was.

* * *

All lights had been switched off, only the TV was running. News, a feature, a film, even sports, it all flittered aimlessly and randomly across the screen, while the occupant of the room didn't pay much attention. Pillows were stuffed together for a better angle towards the television screen, but it was useless too.

The woman in the bed was staring into the distance, sometimes at her hands, taking in every line, almost every pore in the eerie light. Everything was of almost clinical interest as she tried to keep her mind from returning to the same thought over and over again.

It was a vicious circle, the very same imaginary picture like a taunt. She could see it in her mind. The scene, the faces, the clothes. In her head she could hear the hushed voices, the background noise. She knew the smiles without seeing them. Imagining the end of the night was only the next natural step.

The tear that rolled down her cheek pricked on her skin. A sharp contrast to the smoothness of the sheets surrounding her. With an angry gesture she wiped it away and closed her eyes.

Being noble was overrated, Grace decided as she fell back against her pillow.

* * *

Upmarket, but not overwhelmingly so was a good description for this place, and one of the reasons why he liked it. One should trust the recommendation of a knowledgeable person. It did pay off to listen at times.

Indirect lighting came from the wall lamps and those on the tables, bathing the room in a cosy, golden atmosphere. The table cloth was pristine, china and cutlery immaculate. The musician softly playing jazz tunes was very good, but not obtrusive in his performance.

From experience he knew that the cook was excellent and the wine offers stunning. Considering who had recommended the restaurant, he was not surprised.

The thought made him smile for a moment, before he turned his attention back to his companion.

"This is a lovely place, Boyd," Sarah said with a smile. "How did you find it?"

Boyd shrugged and smiled as well. "Just a recommendation from a friend."

* * *

Thank you for reading. Comments would be greatly appreciated.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Here we are again - and yes, Boyd's having dinner with Sarah. But we'll how that plays out, I'd say. At this point - since I guess, it's my last post before Christmas - I'd like to say thank you to all for reading and commenting. Extra thank you go to ShadowSamurai83 for betaing! It gets better - believe me.

And to Teddy78 and GraceBe for...well...everything.

Merry Christmas everybody.

And enjoy.

* * *

**Chapter IX**

She liked the atmosphere of the restaurant. It was light, airy, warm and welcoming too. The first course had been very good and from the smell, she was certain the main course would be as well. The wine was of very good quality, as was the background musician. To choose such a restaurant was very Boyd, and yet not Boyd at all.

Casting a glance around the room, Sarah focussed on her companion for a moment, taking in how he had changed over the last few months. He had gotten older, there was no denying it. The former salt and pepper of his hair had turned into almost complete silver. The lines on his face were deeper, his overall statue a little more full. That and this certain contentment in his eyes didn't quite fit the other features, but she wasn't sure he'd be willing to share.

Boyd had never been one to share much of his personal feelings and goings on. She didn't believe he'd answer any direct questions. Their initial meeting tonight showed it quite clearly.

"Hello Boyd," she had started.

"Hello Sarah." He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and a smile.

"I see you've got my message, finally."

He smiled again. "You've sent a few I've seen."

She nodded. "You've become a hard man to find." She wanted to say more, urge him to elaborate, but his reply was just as short.

It was a shrug. "I'm on extended leave. Decided to take the time and actually be away. Focus on something else. Refocus myself, if you will. Find out if I still want to do what I do." It could mean everything and nothing and she looked at him with intense interest and something akin to shock. He shrugged again, his smile almost apologetic. "Things change. People change."

That was the end of it for a while, until they had settled down at their table in the restaurant where the waiter seemed to know Boyd and therefore had quickly taken their orders.

"I've heard you are facing an enquiry about your conduct in a case," she had started again.

He stiffened, but nodded nonetheless. Staring into his drink for a moment, he answered quietly. "Another reason to be away. I can't be reached by under worked solicitors trying to make a name for themselves at my expense."

"About your son?"

"Yeah."

She nodded, a tight smile momentarily flitting over her face. "I'm sorry."

He looked up, and though it was pained, she could see that his answering smile was genuine. "Thanks."

The waiter interrupted, bringing their main courses and for a while now there was fairly comfortable silence, interrupted by the cling of cutlery and the dim sounds of the restaurant. Sarah took the time to once again observe their surroundings and the man before her. It seemed to be the only way to gather information.

The changes in him were obvious, the physical ones superficial, though. He held himself differently, acted differently. Something, somebody maybe, had changed him. His son's death would be obvious, but there was this little voice in her head that ironically suggested somebody else. Sarah pushed the thought away quickly, not willing to dwell on it much longer.

"Nice place," she said instead.

Boyd looked up from his plate for a moment and grinned. "Yeah. Carry good wine too, without bankrupting you."

In the background, the piano man started another set, some swingy, jazzy classic probably that Sarah didn't know, but Boyd seemed to recognize. "Good music too."

She wanted to ask how he had come across the place, it didn't seem the style of a man who had taken her for fish and chips by the river bank and had been happy with a sandwich during his visit, but that brought her back to the thought she had consciously pushed away and Sarah preferred it that way. If she asked that one, just one, question, she might not like the answer.

Their dinner conversation bordered on superficial as it was, very different from what they had had when they worked together all those months ago. Then there was a connection, now Boyd was only physically present.

Sure, he looked at her with the usual intensity, he made the right noises in the right places, gave answers too when she asked questions, but his mind was not fully engaged. She didn't need to be a psychologist to discover that.

Once the main course was cleared Boyd excused himself and Sarah took the time to reflect on the development of the evening. It amused her a little how he had almost fled to the cloakroom, as the British were fond of calling it, but the amusement didn't last long when she found that his urgent business didn't involve something biological, but a phone call.

* * *

He couldn't exactly put his finger on it, but all evening something had bothered him. Boyd wasn't a superstitious man; in fact, Grace kept accusing him of being incapable to pick up the vibes in a room, but something wasn't right.

All day, until he had left to go to London, he had eyed Grace. She had looked her normal self, as normal as one could look while going through chemotherapy. She had laughed and joked around, regaled everybody with her tales. The hospital staff adored her, her ability to put people at ease, and above all her lively laughter. It worked on him just as well as it did on everybody else.

Today, however, something had not been right. Underneath the jokes and the laughter there had been a despondency that he, at times, associated with himself, but not with Grace. Something hadn't been right and it kept nagging at the back of his mind.

Dialling the number to her room, he waited for her to pick up. It wasn't yet her sleeping time. Something would still be on, some feature she'd watch to then bowl him over with the knowledge she had gained. She always had to one up him with her proverbs and bits of random knowledge. It was funny to a point, but a man could only accept this much of one up-manship,... right?

The slight smirk on his face turned into a frown when the phone kept ringing. Why didn't Grace pick up the phone? With the time he kept it ringing, she couldn't be still asleep. She needed to have heard it. Why didn't she answer?

Finally giving up after about two minutes of ringing, Boyd heaved a sigh and uneasily buried his face in his hand for a moment. He considered calling the night nurse and ask, but maybe Grace was really just exhausted. Or had actually gone for a little walk in the hallway. The thought didn't make him any easier, but maybe he was overreacting?

He could still always call after dinner, could he?

* * *

"Something wrong?" Sarah asked with a smile that tried to smooth over the frown marring Boyd's face.

"What? Sorry," he muttered in reply but didn't elaborate.

"Your phone call. Bad news?"

"No." He smiled, but it was clear that it was put on for show.

Sarah nodded. What was there to say?

* * *

In the quiet hospital room, the sounds of the machines were magnified, almost deafening. They showed that the patient's heartbeat was steady, that fluids and medication were pumped through their system steadily, showed that basically everything was as it should be.

The patient was resting, though it wasn't entirely certain whether it was sleep, unconsciousness forced by medication or by the patient's condition.

For the patient's 'family', this seemed to cause a great deal of distress as they were hovering near the door leading into the room. The nurse observing the patient eyed the family members with unease. They barely moved away, their eyes always intensely trained on the medical proceedings. It was as if they didn't trust the medical staff to do their work properly.

She added her final remarks to the patient's chart and stepped forward towards the two men who had introduced themselves as cousin and nephew of their patient. The nurse didn't really believe it, but who asked her?

"You should go home, get some rest. He'll be sleeping for several hours more."

The men shook their heads adamantly. "No. You wake him!" came the demand.

Taken aback the nurse shook her head. "I can't. He'll wake up on his own, and the longer he sleeps the better for him."

"You work faster!" the younger of the two men demanded, while his companion abruptly turned away and pulled out his mobile phone. The conversation he led was once again held in a different language that no staff member understood. From the nurse's point of view, though, it didn't sound very assuring.

It wasn't the first time; in fact, there was an almost indecent number of phone calls from these two visitors. All of them sounded displeased at least, angry and nervous most of the time. It was only an additional problem, though, one that was beginning to annoy the chief of staff.

With those two stalking around the hallways angrily when they weren't haunting the staff, it was beginning to upset other patients, many of them who had paid large sums for this rather exclusive place. And the nurse knew her boss; if there was one thing that pissed of the chief of staff, it was complaining patients and their relatives.

"Sir," she tried again. "Your uncle will awake on his own in a few hours, I'm sure, but his injuries are severe. His body needs the rest to heal. The burns he sustained are extensive."

"Work faster!" The younger man, who usually kept silent rasped out. His English was not quite as sophisticated as his companion's but that didn't matter, did it?"

The two men stalked off and the nurse realized with a start that sophisticated English might not be the method those two men planned on using to get their point across. As the younger turned, his jacket flapped open, revealing the handle of a gun at his side.

* * *

"So, how was your dinner?" she asked casually, a gentle smile on her face.

He shrugged and pursed his lips before he answered. "Okay. It was good."

"Good," she replied. "Good." Underneath the blankets her hands clenched for a moment, but she forced them back into relaxation.

It wasn't her best day and she hoped that he didn't notice. If he was still full of the memory of his date the day before, he'd miss the small hints, she hoped. In a way that date was a blessing in disguise. A diversion. The other side of it, she tried to ignore. But it wasn't her best day and therefore she couldn't ignore it.

The side effects of the treatment were not only becoming felt, they were becoming visible as well. It weren't too many yet, but upon waking this morning she had found her pillow full of hairs, more than a person could lose during a sleepless night, which she had had.

Stood before the mirror in the small bathroom, she had spent minutes staring at the stranger that was her person and in her imagination taken the current look a few weeks further down. She already felt herself looking hideous, the pounds going quickly now. In her younger days this had been the constant aim of her life, but now she saw herself looking spectacularly similar to a bag of bones with lifeless skin, dull, eyes and bald patches quickly appearing on her head.

She was but a shadow of herself and in comparison...

With that in mind, the treatment was hitting her especially hard today, the cold in her bones spreading and consuming her. Breakfast and lunch hadn't yet made their re-appearance, but the way she felt now, it would probably not be long. With all her might, Grace tried to push down on the nausea.

Boyd didn't know about today's treatment, as she had not told him or he wouldn't have gone on the date, and she pushed herself harder to swallow the nausea to not clue him in. He'd feel guilty for not having been there and that was the last thing she wanted.

"Good," she ventured again, noting that he hadn't said anything either to fill the prolonged silence. Probably too caught up in a lovely evening, with a beautiful, young and healthy woman. "You should get out more."

"Trying to get rid of me?" he asked with a crooked grin.

She rolled her eyes. "It's November in the country and you've been here for weeks. You must be bored out of your mind."

"I'm not. It's okay," he exclaimed.

"Boyd..." Grace shook her head with a fond smile. "It's not that I want to get rid of you..."

"But you want to get rid of me." They both chuckled at that, but it was short-lived, as the movement upset that careful equilibrium Grace had managed for her insides and she began coughing, the nausea quickly swelling and the bile rising up in her oesophagus. Boyd was next to her in an instant, his hands automatically making a grab for the bowl.

The spell passed quickly, the dry heaves finally easing, and Grace fell back onto the pillows with a sigh. She probably looked like a hundred year old bag of bones, felt like it definitely, and for a moment there was the urge to just cry.

The next thing she felt was a slightly rough thumb wiping away a drop of moisture from her cheek, with an infinite tenderness that made the tears come even harder. At the same time she felt her hands being lifted and then something soft, but woolly gently pushed onto them.

"I'll never understand your fondness for those losers, but I guess even a smart person like you has to do stupid things at times." Boyd's voice was teasing, though she could hear the emotional roughness underneath it.

"What you mean?"

Instead of an answer, he nodded towards her hands, and when she looked down, the tears flowed once again. The colour contrast was stark against her pale and lifeless skin, especially the vibrant red and turquoise green of the woollen mittens. She didn't even need to read the embroidered words to know what they said, the colours being a dead giveaway.

"I walked by that shop and saw them. I thought you'd probably have a collection of scarves, but I thought those mittens looked funny. And with your cold hands..."

She didn't answer, still staring and tears still running down her cheeks.

"Just don't expect me to sing that song," Boyd announced gruffly, unsettled by her crying, but at the same time extremely pleased with himself for the light that was in her eyes underneath the tears.

A little awkwardly, he settled on the edge of the bed and pulled her against him.

"You will sing. With me. At Kop End."

There was a long pause.

"Can't wait for it."

* * *

"Did you read the note?" Jason urgently asked Ari, pulling to a quiet corner of the office. By the desks, they could see Kat and Spence on the phone, Sarah bowed over a legal pad, on which she was probably drawing plans of attack.

"Yeah, I did," Ari replied, a note of resignation in his tone.

"No need to put yourself down, man. We couldn't know at the time."

"No, we couldn't. And we still can't. It's only a possibility as of yet."

"It's only a suspicion, I know," Jason whispered, oddly concerned.

"We can't do that!"

"We may have to, Ari."

* * *

Evening had set, the landscape virtually in darkness now. People made sure to be finished with their business outside and be firmly ensconced inside a building with reliable light and heating.

In the darkness, the rolling of the surf sounded extra loud and dangerous. If you went too far tonight, it would take forever to find you. There was a lot of ocean out there.

The two men in the shadow of a rock formation built their meeting on this, knew they wouldn't been seen tonight. Their conversation was rushed, words tumbling over each other, a few even swallowed by the noise of the surf and the wind. Both were agitated, gesturing heavily with almost every limb, their voices shrill at times, then menacing.

The discussion didn't go well. No resolution was found.

As one drove off angrily with screeching tires, the other furiously kicked the dirt, then pulled out his gun and fired into the air.

The noise of the waves swallowed the sound.

Almost.

* * *

Thank you for reading. Comments would be greatly appreciated.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Happy New Year, everybody. Hope you had a good time these last days and are ready for a new year filled with new - and unfortunately final - WtD. With this in mind I offer you the next chapter of my AU. Many thanks go out to ShadowSamurai83 for the fantastic betaing services.

Other than that - enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter X**

"You can't be serious, Ari," Sarah hissed three days later in the hallway outside the CCU's offices. By consent, Boyd's office remained still unused, though at this point, it would have been nice to have a place where they wouldn't be overheard. "We can't wait! You know we need a result and we are getting close to it."

"Doesn't mean that we can just storm into a random hospital and say afterwards, "Sorry, wrong door,'."

"That's not funny."

"It wasn't a joke, Sarah." Jason stepped in. "We can't afford a blunder with this, or we'll be the laughing stock of the world and lose any chance of catching those bastards. We need to get them all in one fell swoop!"

"That's exactly what I'm saying. You are finding excuses!" Gesturing with her hands and shaking her head, Sarah began to pace. "What is this all of a sudden?" She fixed Ari with a pointed stare. "You were so pushy in the beginning, questioning my commitment to the case even and now you stall. I could easily call that sabotage, if not mutiny!"

Both men were silent as they exchanged a glance. "It's not," they said jointly.

"Oh no? Why are you against a move then?"

"I'm not against a move, I'm just saying we need to be certain first. Have a definite ID. We can't just barge into a hospital and shoot around, if we don't know for certain that our operation will be successful. The public will string us from the nearest lamp post if we produce a blood bath in one of their hospitals."

"That's the government's job to explain," Sarah replied off-handedly. The sentence hung in the air, the three agents staring at each other to smooth over the callous remark. It wasn't Sarah's usual style, despite her - very successful - pushiness. Nerves lay blank, on different fronts, and it bothered Ari that Sarah believed to have hidden the full extent of her trouble.

"True." He smiled. "But it will upset our government that their government is upset, because their government will let our government know just how upset they are."

"I honestly don't care if some diplomats whine at each other," Sarah hissed. "Our government _demands_ that we catch a dangerous group of terrorists. What kind of mess we leave behind doesn't matter as long as we eliminate the threat to our synagogues and our people!"

"She's right, you know," Jason said quietly. "Rosenberg called to tell me that Jerusalem is worried by our long delay. Home Office is bothering them too, apparently. It's on our careers..."

Ari nodded, somewhat surprised that Rosenberg had called Jason, not him...or Sarah. But the old man had his ears everywhere and probably already knew the reason behind his caution, just as well as he knew the reason behind Sarah's uncertain lead. Typical.

"It will be on our careers too, if we leave a mess. Not even..." He lowered his voice and stepped closer to the others. "Not even the Mossad can afford negative publicity like that."

"We just need to make sure it's the right guy." Jason smiled slightly.

The two men exchanged a look, silently going back to their earlier conversation. Neither of them liked the situation any better now.

Sarah watched the exchange with the uneasy feeling that she was left out of a joke and along with the realization that Ari was getting the upper hand in this discussion, her ire rose again. "Then bring me that certainty, and do it fast. Because during the call I received from Jerusalem I was informed that they want to see a result by the end of the week."

"Their result?" Ari asked meaningfully.

Without a response, Sarah turned on her heel and marched off.

Her two colleagues exchanged a significant glance.

* * *

The team meeting the next evening was full of tension. Finally, there were results on the table and yet people didn't look happy. That the CCU-team wasn't pleased surprised Sarah, yet she put it down to them simply being standoffish. DI Jordan had neither apologized nor tried to make amends for his insolent behaviour, but for the sake of progress Sarah let it slide. There were more important things than this, and once Boyd was back from leave, Jordan was supposed to return to CID and wouldn't matter any longer.

Naturally, the two women followed his lead, perfectly conditioned by Boyd's example, Howard probably out of rank considerations. Lockhart, however...

There was something else going on, Sarah wasn't blind to it. The looks she had received the day after her date with Boyd had been dark and displeased. The team didn't want to work with her and they wanted her going out with Boyd even less. They treated her like an intruder, even though there was nothing she was intruding on. Or was there?

Boyd hadn't given any indication of being committed to another woman, but he hadn't really given _anything_ away about his current personal situation. Mostly it had been her who had talked, deeper subjects not touched upon. She had gone with this, glad that she wouldn't have to reveal anything about herself either. About the job...Sam...

A dinner without real depth, two strangers just meeting and having a meal at the same table. Nothing more.

The thought stuck for a moment, as Sarah eyed the other occupants of the office. She pushed it away, though, didn't want to think too deeply about her personal life. Not now.

Ari and Jason looked still uneasy about the results on the table and the consequences those would have.

"So," Sarah started finally into the tense silence, "we now know that the man who we suspect is our bomber was dragged into a van which left the bombing scene in a hurry. We've also received confirmation that this van has been seen in and near a town called Christchurch earlier this week."

"Yes," Jason continued. "Since the video footage shows that our man was injured during his attack, we already established that he would have to go to a doctor or to a hospital. We have collated a list of all practitioners and hospitals in a 10 mile radius of the town and tried to eliminate all unlikely candidates from the list."

"Tough job," Eve interrupted calmly. "A ten mile radius means almost all of Bournemouth. That makes a good two hundred thousand people altogether. A lot of doctors and hospitals."

Sarah bristled at the almost mocking tone, but neither Ari nor Jason seemed to take offence. Instead they smiled and shrugged. "We cut the list down to likely candidates and came across three hospitals and four private practices."

"And?" Spencer leaned forward, not wanting to hear what he already seemed to know.

"We've excluded the private practices, because they'd require our man to take accommodation elsewhere, which would be too suspicious for a man in his condition. We have already taken a closer look at the places where the van was parked, but it hasn't been fruitful yet."

When Jason finished, Sarah got up from her chair and started to pace. The nervous energy was spreading through her body and she needed at least some relief. They were close, very close. She knew it. "The hospitals are generally more practical and there is one in particular that lends itself as a hideaway. It has a very good medical reputation and is a private one, thus a lot less crowded."

"Which one?"

In this moment you could have heard a pin drop, the CCU-team taut with tension, their faces firmly fixed on Sarah.

"Highcliffe Hospital. Near a golf club of the same name."

There was silence again, this time even more tense than before.

Eve Lockhart, pale as she had been before, now looked as white as a sheet. Even DI Jordan looked ashen.

"We aren't completely sure yet," Ari spoke into the silence, his face almost apologetic. "We won't do a thing before we aren't absolutely certain."

"How are you going to be sure?" Spencer asked, before Sarah could rebuff her colleague for making a promise they could and probably would not keep. The man's voice was wooden, just like his movements.

Both Jason and Ari avoided eye contact, a behaviour Sarah found odd. But if she didn't want to appear as if there was a rift in her team and she no longer in control, she had to play along, for the time being. However, once they were amongst themselves, she fully intended to read both men the riot act. In fact, if push came to shove, she'd place a formal reprimand against the two of them for insubordination. But that wasn't here or now.

"We'll send someone inside," Jason announced almost apologetically.

"Who?"

* * *

"Boyd."

On her bed, Grace shook her head slightly at the brash way Boyd answered his phone. It was a surprise he answered at all, the way he had been focussed on her the last few days. Since his return from London, Boyd hadn't been more than a foot or two away from her. And while it was lovely to receive so much attention, it was also a little exhausting. Just a little bit.

Even now, with one hand holding his phone, the other firmly held onto her own. Both doctors and nurses turned a blind eye on their antics, his insistence to be in the room when she received her treatment having become very well known. They simply gave up on fighting on it every day.

Today they were done anyway, she was just lying around to calm and settle down after the treatment, which was a hard thing to do with the burning in her hand, where the needle sat, and the queasiness in her stomach. She didn't feel too hot and was glad he was holding her hand. Even if he was on the phone with a dark cloud quickly gathering over his head.

"Oh really? And if I don't?"

Grace raised an eyebrow at the particularly cold reaction. He rarely was engaging on the phone, but this was almost rude.

Apparently, the person on the other end wasn't deterred and insisted on their wish. In the end, Boyd cut the call with a heavy sigh.

"I've got to go into town again today," he announced.

"Who was that?" she asked with a smile to keep the conversation smooth, even though she felt her stomach drop at the thought.

"Spence. He's got a problem with something, didn't say what, though."

There was a pause during which he didn't look at her and she tried to read if he was telling the truth. Yes, he had sounded annoyed and he was a notoriously bad actor when it came to personal matters, but somehow she didn't buy his words. Spencer would have called her room extension, expecting their mobiles to be switched off in the hospital.

No, it had to be something, somebody else.

She couldn't ask outright, though, so Grace smiled. "He trusts you and takes your advice, even if it doesn't look like it."

"Yeah. Still...I don't want to go."

He sounded serious, but she couldn't help but notice that there was something else in his demeanour. "Made you an offer that you can't refuse, huh?"

"How did you know?"

Her smile brightened. It was a show, of course, her stomach twisting and her throat clogging up. "I know you. And I know them. They probably just want to whine about each other, take you for a drink in the pub."

"You think I should go?" Boyd asked uncertainly, but to Grace it sounded different, her mind rushing to an image that she had pushed away over the last few days. With his attention so fully settled on her, she had ignored Sarah, but now it came back in full force. And once doubt has taken place in your mind, there's little you can do not to think about it.

"If they insist on your appearance you have little choice. Besides, you should take the chance to go. See the city, have an enjoyable evening. Dinner or something." The last was choked out in a somewhat strained voice that she hoped he wouldn't catch up on. Even though Boyd hadn't said anything about it, Grace was certain that Sarah was still in London and only waiting for Boyd's call. Going into town would probably automatically mean that he saw her.

"Ha," he scoffed, but let go of her hand and wandered over to the window staring outside.

With his back to her, Boyd couldn't see how Grace's face fell, how she swallowed to get a word past the lump in her throat. "Really, Boyd, go. Grab a change of clothes, sleep in your own bed, check on the kids. Say hi to Christie from me when you two have a beer. It will do you good." She was proud of how sincere and confident her voice sounded, even though she felt weaker every second. This was harder than she would have thought.

It wouldn't be a drink in the pub with the team. It would be dinner with Sarah. Again. A new start, maybe. Doing it better this time, maybe they could create a future for themselves, find a mode in which they could fit two continents and two time consuming jobs together. Have a little love to themselves.

It would be good for them. And she'd rest easier knowing that he'd...he'd never know how much it cost her to see it happen.

Swallowing again, and again...Grace plastered a smile to her face. "Please, Peter." He turned around at her using his given name. She rarely used it, and if she did now, she really wanted him to go.

Closing the distance to her bed, he placed one hand on her shoulder and with the other picked up her free hand. Her skin was cool again, too cool, and he felt his gut tighten at what that could mean. "Are you sure you don't need me?" He squeezed her shoulder and her hand.

"Absolutely. Go! I insist."

With a final squeeze, he turned and left the room, his unease growing with every step. He hated leaving her alone like this. Hated that he knew that whatever expected him in London would not be good.

Back in the room, the nurse threw a worried glance at her patient.

* * *

It was worse than he had expected. Crowded in a windowless office with Spencer, Christie and, as unpleasant surprise, the man from the hospital hallway, Boyd felt somewhat claustrophobic.

They'd been in this office, filling his head with facts and assumptions that made him spin. Maybe the days on leave had already dulled his instincts, or he simply shut down his mind to avoid being involved. He didn't like what he was hearing and quite frankly, he didn't want to be drawn in.

"What's the matter, Peter?" Christie asked, noticing the DSI's absence of mind. "Is something still unclear?"

Boyd was silent for a moment longer, not looking at any of the other men.

"Boyd?"

"There's only one thing I wonder," Boyd finally started.

"What is it?"

"What does that all have to do with me?"

For the first time, Ari directly addressed the other man, his unease barely suppressed. The angry glare at the hospital was one thing, but now it was clear that Boyd had made the connections and was, for all purposes, mad. Ari didn't relish the idea of attracting the other's considerable and legendary wrath to himself.

"You already have extensive knowledge about the hospital where we are certain our man is treated, and you are known to the staff and to the patients. It won't create any suspicion if you wander around looking into rooms and people. They'll think you just take a break."

"Because it has become too hard to sit and watch?" Boyd's reply came close to a sneer, causing both Spencer and Christie to slightly rise in alarm and share a concerned look.

Ari wasn't able to hide his embarrassment. "I'm sorry," he said. "But yeah, something like that."

"Sorry?"

There was another silence, while Boyd contemplated the situation and the others waited for his answer. In truth, and they all knew that, there was only one possible choice.

"I won't do it," Boyd declared.

"Excuse me, DSI Boyd, but it wasn't a request," Ari said, standing up and looking down.

"I'm off duty for the time being, with a possibility of being so permanently. So all you can do is make a request."

"You are still a serving officer, Boyd, and it is a matter of public security. We don't take terrorism lightly."

"As a possibly affected citizen I certainly hope so." The sarcasm-level in Boyd's voice was reaching new heights as he settled back in his chair and shook his head. "However, I _am_ on personal leave, more or less demanded by my superiors, and as such I see no reason why I should be involved in a police action. Or actually a secret service operation. I'm not even asking why my unit has been involved in the case, so leave me out of it."

"Boyd," Christie spoke up, trying to dissolve the shouting match that was about to ensue with Boyd's ever-rising voice. "Of course, we can only ask you to do this while you are on leave, but consider the urgency of the situation. We need to capture this group, but we need to be sure that we catch the right men."

The situation was quickly going from bad to worse. If Boyd kept digging his heels in, they'd be in real trouble. So far, the top brass of the Mossad had been patient and let them do their job. But they were getting nervous, keen to finish the job. Courtesy to the hosts would not much longer be a consideration. They wanted to move in, were already gathering agents together. And Boyd was being childish.

"There are more important things to consider," Boyd replied flatly.

Ari smiled a little as he closed the distance to the DSI. "Yes, but if it is our target in that hospital, how long do you think you can keep her out of harm's way? How long until she, and you, become involved in this case, whether you want it or not?"

"Is that a threat?"

"There is a terrorist in that hospital, Boyd. Visited by other terrorists every day. How will you protect Grace when they decide that they need to get rid of witnesses?"

* * *

Thank you for reading. Comments would be greatly appreciated.


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: So, another chapter of this story and it's not getting better. In fact, it gets worse. So, enjoy! ;)

* * *

**Chapter XI**

She watched him sitting on his customary chair beside her bed. Usually, he'd sit there and read, only interrupt to look up and check on her, which she pretended to overlook, but usual wasn't true any more. He'd been back since early in the morning, which surprised her, but something was off. She knew him, - well enough, she'd claim, - to know that something was bothering him.

It didn't take a genius to realize that it was somebody and he had left her bed in London early to return and play the caring friend. Of course, Grace wouldn't accuse him of pretending to care, that wasn't in Boyd's nature. If he didn't care, he'd let you know. No, he genuinely wanted to be by her side to do his duty, but his heart and his mind wasn't in it any more.

There was a distance in his manners and in his expression that she knew from the office. In fact, it was exactly like when they had a difficult case and Boyd was getting frustrated with the lack of progress. Under different circumstances Grace would have smiled and inwardly shaken her head. Boyd was an incurable workaholic, nothing would change that. But until now he had kept it in check very well and that let her know that his changed mood wasn't due to work.

The thought made her stomach turn. It didn't take much for that to occur these days. The side effects were at an all time high, nausea her constant companion. It seemed that in exchange for not losing any more hair at the moment, she was pretty much losing everything else. It was a crude way of seeing it, but in her situation, what else could you do?

It wasn't getting better, she knew that. Maybe the chemo was successfully fighting the cancer in her body, but the price was high and seemingly getting higher with every day. She avoided the mirror by now, didn't want to know how she looked. Not favourable in comparison, that was certain. A sick old woman comparing to a healthy one in the prime of her life... Grace wasn't morbid by nature, but there wasn't enough optimism in the world to find an advantage for her. Except duty.

In the pessimistic recesses of her mind, Grace had expected it, even though she had hoped to be wrong. She knew that, especially after the disaster with Linda Cummings, Boyd was hell-bent on making it up to her. So far he had given everything he had and Grace was incredibly grateful for it. Despite everything, the last weeks had been among the most content she could remember and for that she was grateful as well.

Boyd had gone up and above the call of duty to support her, gone completely out of his way to cater to her needs and emotions, and in her heart Grace knew that she needed to repay him. With Sarah back on the scene, his reward was just around the corner. All he needed to do was take hold of it. That, however, meant that he spent less time taking care of a sick friend.

How she'd execute the plan, especially since there wasn't one yet, she didn't know, but the first step would have to be assuring Boyd that she was better. A lot better than she actually was.

"Hey, what's with the gloomy face? I haven't spit on you yet and it's already afternoon, so it's actually a good day," she said lightly.

He just shook his head, but didn't reply. She had been wise-cracking incessantly for days and that worried him. The accompanying grin never once reached her eyes and he knew her well enough by now that she was playing pretend for his benefit. The thought that there was something about her condition that she preferred him not to know took hold of his heart and squeezed until he was sure no more blood was left in it.

She couldn't die, no way was he allowing it. This hospital could give her the best treatment available and despite its insidious side effects, the doctors gave the impression of being cautiously optimistic with the way the therapy progressed.

Grace needed the best treatment and that she would get here.

Yet two floors down lay a man who was supposedly willing to kill dozens of innocent bystanders for the 'just and holy cause'. And while that man might be out of the count for a while, his henchmen would not hesitate to shoot their way out. By pure dumb luck they had managed to land themselves in the line of fire and if push came to shove, nobody would care if it had all been just a coincidence. And if Grace died in this mess...

Maybe they should just up and leave. Bundle her up and transfer her to a different hospital where she'd be safe. Take her away and pray that the cancer would be more merciful than terrorists.

He doubted it.

"Boyd?" came her gentle voice.

He looked at her, only half-focussed, the thoughts rushing around in his mind.

"I was making a joke and while I'm not saying that my ego desperately needs it, it would still be nice if you at least pretended to be amused."

Giving her a short but affectionate smile, he shook his head. "Your jokes fall flat, must be all that lack of circulation."

"Meaning that just because you don't have cold fingers you are funnier than I am? Oh please..." Grace snorted indelicately and shook her head.

With a chuckle he took her hand in his, automatically noting how cold it was. She shivered from the sudden influx of warmth, her body shaking for a moment as it adjusted. Seeing it, Boyd felt a serious pang. She had so much on her plate right now. Fighting for her life, she should not be worrying about being targeted by a terrorist.

The decision was made before he gave it any conscious thought. Swallowing the words which he had rehearsed to tell her about the situation, he climbed half onto the bed and pulled her into his arms. "It's never been about outward appearance, I'm just a regular clown."

"If that means that you tend to behave like an idiot, then I agree," Grace drawled as she snuggled closer into his body heat. He was keeping something from her, she knew it, and considering that he had gone into London the day before, she could easily guess what it was.

Being noble was really overrated.

* * *

The evening went by as it usually did, at least outwardly. They were both playing pretend, and both knew it of the other, but trying to hide something themselves, neither Grace nor Boyd called the other out. By mutual consent they ignored the changes in their behaviours, the walls they were both erecting, hoping that the other didn't notice. It was a useless and rather unsuccessful game of 'I know that you know that I know'.

Still, on the surface everything was normal, even looked like an improvement as Grace fought the mighty battle to keep her dinner in. She was winning it, but the effort had exhausted her and she slept half way through the feature on the Orinoco, leaving Boyd to improve his education alone.

He didn't watch very actively either, his thoughts in too much disarray to focus on names of animals and plants. Over and over, he replayed the words in Christie's office, Spencer's parting words and friendly pat on the shoulder in the car park. Even that man's, Ari, comments in the hallway. He'd been apologetic for his intrusion, expressed his personal concern, but it had made no difference to the demand he had set.

On an intellectual and professional level Boyd even agreed with him. Somebody who had already been seen in and around the hospital wouldn't arouse so much suspicion if he wandered other floors as well. The threat needed to be dealt with, before another synagogue or - sooner or later - church would burn. Scouting out the target thoroughly would save money, lives and embarrassment. Boyd knew all that and the police officer in him agreed.

But the police officer was taking a backseat these days, which was why Peter Boyd bristled at the mere idea. After the meeting he had aimlessly wandered the streets of London, ended up in his flat at some point. It didn't give him any modicum of calm, it never did, and so he had just thrown some more clothes into a bag and started driving around. Unsurprisingly, he ended up at a town house and in between the thoughtful clutter of Grace's possessions, he had found at least a bit of peace.

He'd looked at the pictures on the walls, traced the spines of her books, napped on her living room sofa, lulled by the tranquillity of the place. Even though they were practically living in a hospital and she was fighting for her life, he had been more at ease with himself and the world during the last weeks than he had been in years. They were talking, silent together, touching or just close by, and he found that he didn't regret a minute of it, wasn't annoyed by the emotion, the domesticity of it all. He slept little, watching over her as much as he could, and yet he felt refreshed.

Until he had been told that their peace was already compromised and thus Grace in even more immediate danger. Visions of the last time, Linda Cummings, Grace basically stolen from a hospital and tied to a chair, the bargaining chip - his killing or her life...

The thought, the knowledge that this Ari had essentially used the same bargaining chip, drove anger, hot and acid, through his veins, forced him away from his usual position on Grace's bed.

Fleeing the room, he marched around the floor, aimlessly, his mind still a jumble of thoughts.

"Mr. Boyd, you should get some sleep as well," a friendly voice broke into his musings. It was Dr. Shaz, the physician in charge.

"Everybody is telling me that," he replied, a tad bit harsher than he intended to. "Sorry."

"It's alright," the doctor demurred. He'd seen this happening before, many family members underestimated the impact cancer treatment had on them. "We are telling you because you need your rest," he continued gently.

"Too many thoughts in my mind and I want to be on hand, when she wakes up at night and needs me."

"It's very important to you to be the caregiver, I can see that."

Boyd smiled slightly. "Grace deserves nothing less."

"I'm sure." The doctor smiled back. While Mr. Boyd might not be the friendliest person in the world, it impressed the staff, made some of the nurses sigh dreamily, how he took care of Ms. Foley. So much dogged devotion, they didn't come by that often.

"How is it going with the treatment, doctor? I mean, really." The thought came spontaneously. Maybe the doctor could give a prognosis that meant they could move Grace to another hospital, or possibly give her a break in the treatment. Anything that would make it possible to move her out of the line of fire.

Dr. Shaz hesitated for a moment. Questions like this were always difficult, and not of the kind to answer in the hallway. The man before him was desperate, though, and Dr. Shaz knew he couldn't ward off an answer. "The treatment is doing its work, she's reacting within the expected parameters, so we are hopeful." It was a lame answer, but before the cycle was finished there was precious little else he could say.

"When will you know for certain?" Boyd pressed on. The reply had been terribly vague, not giving him the knowledge he needed.

"Once the cycle is finished, Mr. Boyd. Ms. Foley still has about a week to go, and then it will be another two weeks before we can do the necessary scans and know whether this round of chemotherapy was enough." He shrugged apologetically and gave Boyd a small smile. "It's the way these things go."

"Three weeks then."

"Yes." Dr. Shaz's heart went out to the man who had just paled at the timeframe given.

"What if the treatment were interrupted?"

"I don't understand..."

"Would it harm her, if the treatment were interrupted?"

The doctor stared at the other man for a moment, then nodded. "It's a comprehensive therapy, Mr. Boyd, and the way her immune system is deprived because of both the disease and the treatment, it..."

"I understand," Boyd interrupted, still pale, and suddenly despondent. Turning away, he slowly began to wander again, feeling and probably looking at least twenty years older than he was.

* * *

"They've doubled the police presence in town, checked hotels and B&Bs. They're looking for somebody."

"Us?"

"Possible."

"Do they ask questions?"

"Nassir didn't say, but they are checking hospitals and doctors all over the area."

"They are looking for us then. Why else should they ask doctors? They know Ahmet was hit too. They want us!"

"Nassir says they're vague at the moment. Just look for the car and ask general things."

"Did you sell it?"

"Of course, what do you take me for?"

"What if they find us?"

"They're gonna have to get us first and I won't make it easy for them."

"We need to get Ahmet out of here. It isn't safe any more."

"He needs to wake up first. If we move him now we raise suspicion. The only thing people here know is that Ahmet was hurt during an explosion in a kitchen."

"Ha...kitchen..."

"They can't just walk into a hospital and shoot around to catch some alleged criminals. It would be a publicity disaster for them and the police. They won't do it."

"What if they risk it anyway?"

"They won't move without being sure it's us and for that they need proof."

"What if they try to infiltrate this place?"

"Then we need to make sure he gets no chance to inform them, I'd say."

* * *

The communicative tension hadn't lessened over night, so the jokes, though thrown around incessantly, weren't quite as successful as they usually were. In addition, Grace truly hated the wheelchair they used to transport her to treatment and back. She wasn't that sick yet that she couldn't walk on her own, dammit.

Behind her, Boyd was pushing the chair, his mind still as full and messy as it had been the day before. He had turned the situation over and over in his head, but a conclusion was still elusive. No matter which way he looked at it, he risked Grace's life.

The sun was streaming in through the big picture windows, bathing the entire hallway into dazzling brightness. It also threw light on two men in a corner, near the phone booth. Their conversation was whispered, but seemed to be intense. Both men looked as if they were close to exploding and doing something just for the sake of doing anything. Whatever they were discussing was apparently of very serious nature.

* * *

Thank you for reading. Comments would be greatly appreciated.


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: Somebody said I'd be in trouble if I didn't update, so I do. Hope you enjoy what comes up here. Thank yous go out to ShadowSamurai83 for the fantastic beta-job - and to you, my really faithful readers and commenters. Thank you ever so much.

Enjoy.

* * *

**Chapter XII**

As she stared at the minute amount of poison dripping into her veins constantly, Grace found that she was at the end of her endurance, both physically and emotionally. The side effects were getting harder and harder to deal with: the constant nausea, bile almost always on her taste buds, the exhaustion - dry heaves and vomiting were a depleting thing - but worst of it was the constant chill. She felt cold underneath the spray of the shower, covered by half a dozen blankets, and even in Boyd's arms.

The latter, however, had been conspicuously absent last night which was why her emotional situation was almost worse than her physical one. She didn't sleep too well these days, as tremors and nausea woke her up regularly, sometimes it was a shaft of pain too. Last night, being one of the worst she had yet, she'd woken up several times during the night and found herself alone.

It wasn't that she didn't expect it, she had all but pushed Boyd to go and see Sarah again, but faced with the reality of it, Grace wasn't sure she could deal with it. It hurt, simple as that.

In addition, when he had marched into the treatment room earlier, he hadn't looked at all like a man who was happily rekindling a romance. In fact, he had been distant and curt in his behaviour, as brash as she knew him to be when a case wasn't going his way. Since they weren't on a case, it could only be personal displeasure that made him such a boor to deal with.

He didn't listen, didn't answer, and if he replied to any question, it bordered on rude.

It had started the day before, before she had all but pushed him out of the building to go to London - then people had had an understanding look about them, but today, there were a few cringes and a few hurt expressions. Grace knew the situation all too well. Apologies were in order and knowing Boyd, it wouldn't be him who paid them.

The nurse attending her treatment gave the couple several covert glances, wondering what had happened. From her colleagues she knew that the man, Mr. Boyd, had roamed the halls again last night, even more restless than usual. It wasn't an uncommon sight and they all knew that Ms. Foley wasn't exactly getting better at the moment. The treatment might have some effect, but it came at a high price, and it must be a painful thing to watch your loved one suffer so much. For all her bravado, Ms. Foley looked like she could be thrown to the ground by a slight breeze, and it was obvious that her partner didn't deal well with the situation.

Poor man, really. "You look exhausted, Mr. Boyd," she ventured.

The man didn't answer, instead glared back at her. Taken aback by the boorish reaction, the nurse pulled back. "Sorry."

On the bed, Grace bit her lip to keep a quick word in. Sometimes she wondered why she was landed with this job time and again. She was also curious what had happened with Sarah to put Boyd in such a foul mood. "I tell him he should relax more, but he doesn't listen," Grace ventured, trying to inject some levity into the situation.

" I can speak for myself, Grace!" The words were terse and as soon as they were out of his mouth, Boyd regretted them. It wasn't only because Grace paled at the sudden aggression, which she didn't deserve, it was also because the nurse pulled back again, her former surprise quickly turning into protectiveness.

"Ms. Hanigan, the night nurse, said you've been roaming the halls again last night. Maybe you _should_ try to sleep," the nurse tried again, willing to protect her patient in an ensuing argument, but also wanting to look out for the family. She didn't quite understand why Mr. Boyd was suddenly so harsh, but it was having a negative effect on her patient and this was not to be stood for.

Unfortunately, it had an adverse effect on the man, who suddenly shuttered off all emotion on his face and got up rashly. "Will you mind your own business? Stop gossiping and actually do your job like you're supposed to!"

Boyd's posture was rigid and full of anger - so familiar in its appearance that Grace ridiculously felt a bit comforted by it - and then he turned and wordlessly stalked out of the room. If there had been a door, he would have taken it off its hinges.

Inside the treatment room, the two women took deep breaths as the tense atmosphere slowly dissipated.

"I'm sorry," the nurse ventured. "It wasn't my place to say..."

"No." Grace shook her head. "I am sorry." She gave the nurse a small smile. The other woman noted worriedly, just how shaky her patient was. "I apologize for his behaviour. I'm sure he didn't mean to attack you personally. It's just..."

"He's under a lot of strain, being there for you as intensely as he does."

"Yeah, but that doesn't excuse him being rude to you."

The nurse nodded, but let the conversation fizzle out. It was easily noticeable how much the occurrence bothered her patient and she didn't want Ms. Foley to deal with any more pressure. Even though she hadn't looked too well before, now she was positively pallid and there were tears welling in her eyes.

Finally left alone, Grace stared towards the small window on the side. It had been only a matter of time before Boyd reverted back to his old self and offended people around, and originally, she had been prepared to make apologies for him, but at the moment she wasn't really up to playing the peacemaker between a grown man and the rest of the world. All sensible thought aside, she had been hoping that for once, Boyd would control his temper to support her.

Why he stopped now, she couldn't understand, didn't want to really think about. There was, after all, only one answer - in his own convoluted way, Boyd wanted to make it easier for her when he left to be with Sarah. It was - as ridiculous as it sounded - how Boyd was. But somehow this bout of consideration didn't help Grace one bit.

* * *

In the hallway, Boyd paced with increasingly angry steps. Why was everybody on his back today? And why couldn't that nosey nurse mind her own bloody business? He really had more important things to do than explain to anybody why he...

Boyd stopped short in the middle of the hall. He did have more important things to do. Namely Grace. Namely keeping her safe.

The first he had just spectacularly blundered about. The second was the thing that really bothered him. Last night's scouting - wandering, as it was luckily identified by the staff - had brought only mediocre results. He was fairly certain that the man two storeys above was their target, and had managed to take a picture of at least one of the 'visitors', but this took them only so far.

The picture, taken with his mobile, wasn't of the best quality, but at least he hadn't been caught taking it. It was only a small point of relief, because _believing_ to have found their target didn't mean being absolutely certain. Certainty was what they needed.

Boyd had no doubt that the Mossad would move in with a lot of guns and put them to use. Doing so would leave a fair amount of collateral damage. If they wanted to avoid an unnecessary blood bath, they'd better be sure they knew what they were doing.

Unfortunately, being absolutely certain took a little time - he couldn't just walk into the private room of another patient and say he needed to take a picture to send it to the Police and the Secret Service. Being the impatient character he was, Boyd didn't deal well with such a situation.

He wanted it to be over, wanted to be rid of the terrorist threat and focus on Grace getting through her treatments. If he was really honest, Boyd wanted it to be a few weeks later and to have heard that the treatments were successful and Grace on the mend. That's what he wanted.

He wasn't getting it and that made him grouchy, to say the least.

In fact, he was downright pissy.

Giving every person passing him an irritated glare, he pulled out his phone and dialled a familiar number.

He was still at it, now holding himself much more relaxed and smiling, when Grace was wheeled out of the treatment room. He didn't see her, and thus missed the pained look on her face as she found him using a much more gentle tone in his phone call.

* * *

As Eve walked into the squad room, she took a moment to contemplate whether she should turn around and leave right away. The atmosphere in the office could be cut with a knife. Spence's face was a picture of anger, Kat's one of irritation, and the two Mossad-agents looked actually embarrassed.

"What's going on?" she asked carefully, ready to dash any second.

"He is," Kat gestured towards Boyd's office with a gesture of her chin.

Eve followed the direction and found herself confronted with the odd sight of a strange man occupying Boyd's office as if he owned it.

"Who's he?"

"Sam Rosenberg," Jason replied quietly, respect and a bit of hero-worship audible in his voice. "Our boss."

"I see." There was a pause as they all watched the argument going on inside the office. Sarah was in a shouting match with DAC Christie, both of them looking ready to use physical blows to get their point across, while Rosenberg sat there like a Roman emperor watching his gladiators perform. "Should I tell them what Boyd just told me?"

"You talked to Boyd?" Spencer perked up at the news.

"Yeah, just got off the phone with him. And..." She smiled, knowing that despite everything else, this was the most important message. "He says, Grace is doing alright. The doctor said it goes as expected."

"Good." Even though it was Spencer who had spoken, the others relaxed marginally as well.

"And?" Ari finally went back on topic. "Does he have a positive ID?"

Eve shook her head. "No. The picture he has sent is still running through the database and he has tried to catch a better glimpse at our man, but he says he can't be certain." She sat down on the edge of Kat's desk and shrugged resignedly. "It's not that easy. He's too well known in the hospital to just walk into a random room."

"Yeah." Ari nodded, half in understanding, half in annoyance. "Doesn't help us much though, does it?

Jason gave him a long look. "Depends on what our superiors decide, I'd say."

* * *

"I am not risking such a blood bath without any stable grounds to make the move, Ms. Levin!" DAC Ralph Christie wasn't a man prone to yelling, but this 'conversation' was bringing out the worst in him. "We have absolutely no grounds to risk the lives of our officers and of innocent civilians on a hunch you want to follow. We need evidence first!"

"We have enough evidence to go in and get our men! And we will do so!"

"And how much collateral damage do you expect? Ten? Twenty?" Christie pulled himself up to his full height and let out a sarcastic laugh. "What if the man in that bed isn't your man? How do you intend to explain those ten or twenty to the public?"

Sarah didn't answer, her silence inferring that she planned on leaving the explanation to British authorities. It didn't need to be said out loud.

Christie actually laughed. "Forget it! I am not publicly downplaying your unreasonable and unresearched blood bath, and I doubt anybody in the Home Office will take that job from you."

"Are you insisting on the 'proper channels', Deputy Assistant Commissioner?" The way, Rosenberg used Christie's full title could easily be considered as derisive, but the man wasn't that easy to read.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do." Christie nodded. "I am aware that you consider your type of work operating under much different circumstances than our type of work, and I also understand that we are on a time limit. But we do have a man in place who is just risking his neck to bring your type and our type of work together..."

"...with disappointing results so far..."

"You expect it all to happen in one night, Mr. Rosenberg?" The DAC had found his own sarcasm again and was giving it in full to the other man. He had no doubt that Rosenberg knew exactly who was doing the dirty work and even though he himself wasn't completely informed about the personal details, Christie was convinced that Rosenberg was fully aware of each and every one of them.

The two men sized each other up for a few moments, then Rosenberg nodded.

"I understand where you are coming from, Commissioner, and you'll find that I am a reasonable man. I'll give your man another 24 hours. Then we move in and eliminate this man we believe to be Ahmed Bareej and his two companions - with or without your consent."

Sitting on the sofa, Sarah tensed. The office made her antsy, the signs of Boyd's Spartan personality mixed with Grace Foley's clutter unnerving. The argument didn't help matters along. Yes, she was eager to make the catch, knew that an arrest had never been really on the cards. Elimination of a threat and arresting suspects didn't really go together. Christie was no fool.

"24 hours? You're kidding, aren't you?" Christie laughed incredulously. "This will never stand in court!"

At first, Rosenberg was silent, let the silence speak for itself. Then he stood up, and even though he was shorter than the DAC, the force of his personality towered over the younger man. His voice was quiet, but the intensity caused a chill to settle on the room. "Mr. Christie, your sensitivities are all good and nice, but we are not dealing with a simple homicide, we are dealing with a war. Terrorism is war. It's a war on the civilians, on those unable to defend themselves, waged when they are defenceless and not expecting an attack. It sneaks up on innocent people, hurts them, takes their loved ones, kills them. It's my job to win this war by winning every single battle of it." Sam paused. "Catching Ahmed Bareej is such a battle and I will win it and quite frankly, I don't care if any court doesn't approve of my methods. I am here, my people are here, to catch and eliminate terrorists and if _you_ can't stomach it, then I suggest you look for a much quieter job."

There was another pause during which Rosenberg turned away, towards Sarah. He fixed her with a look that wasn't unkind, but made it obvious that the last words had been meant for her as well. Then he turned back towards Christie.

"We will move in tomorrow. If it helps you to sleep better, I suggest you make your man work fast. Very fast. And undetected."

* * *

The hotel room was dark, but that suited her just fine. She didn't want to see much, already felt too much of the man present in the other armchair. "London's a strange city. Strange people too."

She didn't answer.

"But I like it."

Sipping her drink, Sarah stared out of the window. "You put quite a bit of pressure on Christie earlier. And on me." Finally daring, she turned to look at the man next to her.

"Do you disagree?" he asked, a smile audible.

"No," she replied, feeling a bit like a young girl. Sam had this effect on her, made her feel like a teenager with a silly crush, like a naive girl. She hated it at times, but hated it even more what it did to her. She wanted to prove the contrary, wanted to show him she was not a teenager any more, but a grown woman who knew what she wanted and was used to get it.

All of it, even him, if she so decided.

Of course, it was all only theory. Everything was only theory with him flying to London to resolve her case and upsetting her between annoyance and...want. She'd wanted to prove...wanted to...and now, not even Boyd...

"It was for your benefit even more than for Christie's," Rosenberg ventured after a while, during which the silence had become tense. "But you knew that." They'd had those moments again and again over the years and much to Sarah's frustration, she still didn't know whether it was only one-sided or not.

Of course, she should have expected that. "Why?"

"Don't be so defensive, Sarah, I didn't need Ari or Jason running to complain to know where this was going. Work was only a secondary reason for you to come here, I knew that beforehand, but I was hoping it wouldn't show in your performance."

"What do you mean?" She was defensive, she couldn't help it.

"Sure, you said you'd go to catch Bareej, but your interest in Peter Boyd was a lot bigger than that." His voice was even, but Sam always managed to deliver the most cutting remarks as if he was making small talk about the weather.

"Why did you do it then?" That was the big question. Why did he let her run after a man she had little chance of getting? Why let her run to make a fool of herself? And why forcing the entire Mossad-apparatus to follow her, admittedly private, intentions?

The big question, time and time again. Why was Sam Rosenberg, who did actually have a lot better things to do, always there to carry her across a gorge?

Silence stretched as Sarah rushed through a jumble of questions she hadn't found an answer to for at least 15 years. The big, and almost irresistible, enigma that was Sam.

Naturally, he didn't answer any of her unspoken questions.

Finally, he got up, and with a twinge in her heart, Sarah noticed that it didn't go as smoothly as it used to. Gently, he put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed affectionately. "We are going for Bareej tomorrow Sarah, I suggest that you focus on this job and not on a man who is all but married to another woman."

* * *

Thank you for reading. Comments would be greatly appreciated.


	13. Chapter 13

A/N: We are hitting the home-stretch now...only a bit more and this story will be over. I apologize in advance. You'll know for what. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy as I try to chase and find the plot. Many and much thanks go to the support team (you know who you are) and to **ShadowSamurai83** for the beta.

This chapter is - sort of - dedicated to the day of Fernando Who?

Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter XIII**

The machines beeped steadily, showing that the patient was doing well under the circumstances. The heartbeat was regular, lung function within the parameters, circulation strong and steady. All in all, they showed a patient who was - if slowly - on the mend. The outward appearance of the man had improved as well. Cuts and bruises were slowly receding, swellings and burns diminishing.

The situation looked well. Except the patient had yet to reach consciousness.

The two men crowding the room were of the same opinion, their whispered conversation frenzied and agitated. They were gesturing wildly with their hands and - again and again - looking over their shoulders as if they were afraid to be seen or overheard.

Every time a doctor or a nurse only so much as walked by the room, they stopped their conversation and glared at the intruder, causing quite a bit of upheaval amongst the staff who didn't feel entirely comfortable with this 'family'.

The two men exuded violence in their conduct and their already known short tempers made the staff worried how long it would take until the violence exploded.

Standing there they were both tense, ready to react at the slightest thing.

On the bed, there was no movement for a while, until its occupant, with a flutter of his lids, slowly came back to the world. His expression was unfocussed after the long time he had been unconscious, but it cleared as awareness set in, along with the pain.

He groaned.

The two men by his bed jumped in surprise, then quickly crowded around, speaking frantically and relentlessly for several minutes. The man in the bed did barely react, his mind unable to process what was going on around him.

Unawares, they chattered on urgently.

A nurse and the doctor rushed in, called by the changing readouts, and ushered them outside. It didn't go without quite a bit of angry glares and scowls and barely hidden threats.

The two men didn't go far, instead stood by the door and stared in nastily. A mobile rang, the younger of the two men answering it. He didn't look happy to begin with, but the longer the call went, the darker his face turned. He didn't say much, his body tensing up by the second.

His replies were short and curt in tone, his eyes beginning to dart up and down the hallways as if he was looking for something. When the call terminated, he cursed under his breath, the language so colourful that his companion pulled back in surprise.

"What?" he asked, though because of the language they used, the word came out as a hiss.

"We've been found out."

"Are they here?"

The other man shrugged.

"We are doing the just thing. God wants us to do his work!"

There was a pause.

"If they don't want to see that, then we will do God's bidding!"

* * *

Apart from almost every occurrence since his son had become an angry teenager, Boyd didn't remember many times when he had felt worse than now. He stood leaning against the window sill, watching Grace as she slowly and, in his eyes, painfully weakly wandered from the small bathroom to her bed. Under different circumstances he would have been by her side offering very physical support - for a short, amusing moment he imagined just picking her up and carrying her - but the way this day had gone, he didn't think she'd appreciate it. In fact, if he read her body language correctly, she was upset with him.

Granted, a while ago, after yet another unpleasant phone call, he had barged into the room, ready to yell at the first person he encountered, when he had, just for a moment stopped and heard her talking.

Making apologies for his rude behaviour.

Again.

There was resignation in her voice, and this tone of long suffering that she usually suppressed. The nurse in the room hadn't been convinced, definitely not judging by the look she had thrown him upon coming out.

Boyd wasn't blind and, contrary to popular belief, neither emotionless nor oblivious to the mark he left on other people. Adding to Grace's plight was the last thing he wanted to do and his remorse grew exponentially when he walked into her room and found her quickly donning an unaffected mask. He knew that expression well, she'd worn it so many times in their acquaintance that he sometimes wondered if she even still recognised it as one.

"Looks like I'm not making friends among the hospital staff today," he had remarked, trying to lighten the mood, but it hadn't worked.

Instead, Grace had once again offered, though it came closer to pressing him, to go to London and 'relax'. She even spoke of 'enjoying himself'. It made Boyd wonder just what exactly she had gotten into her head what he would do in town. Did she think he'd be hopping the party scene, or what? Did she think he'd...?

The conversation tapered off after that, Grace not answering, instead lying back and turning away with an, "I am tired, Boyd."

Such obvious dismissal was exactly the thing that challenged Boyd to get his own way, and under different circumstances he would have happily forged into a shouting match. But this was a hospital, this was Grace in that hospital bed, and the most recent phone call had charged him with the gargantuan task of making sure that the imminent blood bath would at least have a justifiable result.

He didn't like this man, Ari, any more than he had during their original meetings and the content of their conversation would not change it. First Ari, then DAC Christie had talked and talked and talked, but what really stood out to Boyd was the pressure they'd put on him. Normally, he thrived on pressure, but this time, he wasn't sure.

In only one night, this coming one to be exact, he was supposed to obtain samples for cross-referencing. It was one thing shooting a flash-less picture of somebody from afar, but it was very different to sneak into a hospital room and gather a hair, skin particles, or - if possible - a saliva sample. Who did they think he was? James Bond?

And if possible, couldn't he get a sample from those two as well? What did they think in London, sitting in his office, cozying up their arses?

He couldn't march over to Bareej's companions and rip their hair out. They'd beat him up, at best. At worst, they'd shoot him on sight, having identified him as a police officer.

Boyd didn't fool himself. Seasoned terrorists didn't make amateur-mistakes. If the Met and the Mossad had gotten this close, then those people were prepared as well. His only chance was to make a fast move and hope that they weren't suspicious of him yet. Yet!

It was a treacherous hope.

Not for the first time, Boyd questioned his commitment to the job. Was it really worth it? All his life, he had been a policeman with everything that he was. For this he had sacrificed his son, his marriage, friendships, relationships, sometimes it seemed even his soul, but this time there seemed to be so much more at stake. It wasn't his life or his health, it wasn't even his reputation, what little there was left of it, it was this elusive thing...

He wasn't even sure if he could and should call it a 'last chance', because he didn't even have an idea of what it was supposed to be. All Boyd knew was that he wanted Grace to get healthy again and he wanted to be there to help her along with it, return the favour, maybe. There wasn't a reason for it, not one he could or would name, but being there with her and for her was good.

"What is it, Peter? Really?" Grace had turned back, realizing that he hadn't left, and his face obviously showed the turmoil he was in. She looked at him with large, knowing eyes, and the sight struck him.

In her pale and tired face, her eyes stood out, bright and lively, and warm. And worried.

He took the first step, then another, then more and was next to her bed in a moment. Leaning down, he pulled her into his arms and held her tight. "Worried about you," he whispered. His throat was tight, barely capable of squeezing the words out. If something happened to her...

This could be the final moments...

Inwardly he cringed. Not just at the horrible clich in his head, but also at her frailty. Grace had never been a big woman, but with the chemo depleting her reserves she was thin and shaky like a leaf, cool to the touch as well. Boyd held her tighter and squeezed his eyes shut, willing away all negative thoughts. Whatever would happen tonight...

"And what else?" Grace whispered back, her face turning into his neck, her nose pleasantly warmed by his body heat. She could feel that something was bothering him, she would even say scaring him. Her arms automatically went around his neck, holding him just as tight. It was natural now, touching him, holding him like this. "It's alright," she murmured soothingly. "It will be alright."

Boyd pulled back and gave her a long look that was caught between disbelief and amused fondness. "You are a real optimist, are you?"

"It's an acquired ability. Working with you..." She shrugged, a smile playing around her mouth as well.

"Funny."

Holding out her hand, Grace pulled him closer to settle down next to her on the bed. It was a practiced move, they'd done that almost every evening for weeks now. He went just as naturally, their bodies somehow carved out for a certain position on the narrow bed. Practice, really.

"Will you tell me what bothers you?"

He exhaled noisily, his whole body following the motion.

Grace smiled. "You don't want to worry me, so you will only give me a half truth that is supposed to ease my concerns and let me rest alright."

He looked at her sideways and hoped that his face didn't flame at the blatant callout. Either he was a really bad actor or she was getting too bloody good at reading him. But then, who was he kidding? Grace didn't need to get good at reading him, she already knew him inside out. "I really don't..."

She nodded, still smiling, but then turned serious. Her voice was rough, rougher than normal, and he understood that even if she didn't know the details, Grace already knew enough. "Is it dangerous?"

Instead of an answer, he settled further onto the bed, then turned to pull her flush against him. He could feel every breath she took, felt every angle and curve, the tactile sensation of her skin, cool but soft under his fingers, even her smell underneath all that hospital stuff. Holding her tight, he kissed the top of her head, felt her snuggling further into his embrace, shivering.

"Whatever you have to do, Peter," she said quietly after a while, "Promise me you'll be careful."

* * *

Late into the evening, once the visiting hours were over, the hospital turned into a very quiet place. They allowed close family and partners to stay with their loved ones, but still, the number of people occupying the floors dwindled. The night staff was also a lot smaller than the day staff. Only intensive care rooms were staffed with a nurse all night long, the other rooms were taken care of by two night nurses on each floor. There were two doctors in the house, two more on call at home.

This week's night nurse on the first floor was young, absent-minded at times, and though she did her duties alright, he had noticed that she spent the quiet time playing inane games on a social network website.

Having seen him day and night for weeks, she would think nothing of him wandering this floor. Her companion had gone up to the second floor, because of a situation there and from the sounds of it, she'd be at least half an hour.

That was the time window he had.

Unfortunately, twenty minutes of this window had already gone and all he had accomplished so far was to 'borrow' a doctor's gown and surgical cover from the lounge. The props would work well, since his target had burn wounds - hygienic safety was good, wasn't it?

From his position, in a corner a few feet away from Bareej's room, he had been watching the entrance for several minutes. Lady Luck was with him in so far that only one of the companions was still there. Boyd didn't bother to wonder why, had an ugly feeling that was enforced by the alertness the remaining man showed. Like a body guard, he was watching every move and every noise on the floor, and he hadn't moved for the entire time.

The time window was growing smaller and smaller.

Leaning further into the corner, Boyd contemplated his options. There weren't many. He could either wait and hope that the man had to go to the loo at some point. But when? The other night nurse, upon coming back and seeing him...

This wasn't an option.

That left only the other.

With a sigh, Boyd checked his appearance, the name tag on the gown, placed the surgical cap on his head, the mask over his face and marched towards the room. His hands were clenched in the pockets of the gown, anxiety he rarely allowed himself to feel spreading.

The other man stood up even straighter and gave him a glare, as if to keep him from entering the room. Naturally...of course.

"I'm sorry, sir, but I need go perform a small test on your uncle. It will only take a few moments." His voice sounded confident and his eyes were clear, meeting the other man's stare. He might not fool Grace, but Boyd could bollock with the best of them if he needed. He hoped...

"What test, doctor...Harper, is it?"

"Yes. We've got a situation upstairs and I just want to make sure your uncle's wounds won't be infected. Patients with open wounds are always a bit more endangered." He still sounded confident, even though it was a lame story. In fact, it was such a lame story that he was surprised the other man hadn't hit him yet. "If you...allow?"

Surprise of surprises, the 'bodyguard' let him pass inside, but stood barely a step behind him. Almost feeling the other man's breath on the back of his neck, Boyd prayed that he looked even remotely professional, as he unpacked the vial and a swap. Taking DNA-samples came in handy for practice and as he slowly uncovered Bareej's upper body, he quickly checked where he'd get the easiest bit. Brushing the swap over a half-healed wound, the patient groaned in his sleep, making Boyd tense and the bodyguard step even closer.

Soothing noises calmed the situation, as much as Boyd's even words: "His wounds are healing, but still tender. It's a bit like phantom pain. He won't wake." Dear God, better not.

Bagging the swap into the vial, he put both into the pocket of his gown.

"What will you do with it?"

Boyd picked up the patient's chart and pretended to note his 'treatment'. Nonchalantly, he said, "We're using this to grow a small culture, see how strong his immunizations are, and if we need to take further action."

"That's it?"

He smiled. This was it. A third of the job done. Unfortunately, the easiest part. "That's it." Walking to the door, he shrugged, then said over his shoulder, "He's doing alright. You should get some rest too."

Outside, he felt his heart rise in his chest and had to remind himself firmly to walk slowly, with measured steps. Just the tiniest wrong move could blow his cover and make all this go to hell in a hand basket. If a shout came, he'd be busted. If a shot came...

Every step was like a million, taking hours instead of moments. He felt eyes burning into his back, gauging, suspicious.

Then he was almost at the nurse's station, a short glance showed the young night nurse to be engrossed in her computer again. Or her mobile or whatever she used. Clear coast there. There was thankfully also a bend in the corridor, he could take off the costume without being discovered. Hopefully.

The only way out was the door. In very American fashion there was no window that could be opened. It was only the door to get in or out. A walk in the spotlight.

He couldn't take off the mask or the cap yet, the bodyguard was still watching, if the nurse looked up...

A few more steps. Just a few more. He could already feel the draft from outside, the cold that permeated through the glass windows and the small fissures between the door and its frame.

Two steps, maybe three and he was outside, could call Spence to give him the sample. Two steps.

In the silent hallway it was like Big Ben next to your ear. The sudden noise stopped him cold, his heart freezing in an icy grip.

Caught...

* * *

Thank you for reading. Comments would be greatly appreciated.


	14. Chapter 14

A/N: I've been threatened by certain nameless persons that I had to post today, so I do. Nothing like a good threat, I guess. So, here...is a chapter. And it's...well, read for yourself and enjoy. Many thanks go out to the people who keep me entertained while I write (they keep me from writing too ;o)), but first and foremost to ShadowSamurai83 for all the work she's put into my work to make it good work. You are a star!

Also, because so many of you asked: just google for "Waking the Dead Showcase 2011" and you should find something :o)

And now, enjoy.

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**Chapter XIV**

They stood next to a bench on a car park by the cliffs, staring into the distance. Everything to avoid a personal connection. It was a sunny day, windy, surprisingly warm for the season. The mood amongst the men, however, was bleak.

Hidden by hills, unsuspicious cars and greenery was the task force, ready to break into Highcliffe Hospital. In town and surrounding areas, reinforcements were stationed, ready to help out. If everything went according to plan, the move should go without a hitch.

Neither Spencer nor Boyd had been privy to the details of the plan, though. It was a fact that galled the DI. Being called in to do the dirty work and then be ignored when it came to the resolution bothered his ego, even though he guessed it would be better not to be too involved in the final stage.

Thinking of the pending bloodshed, Spencer felt his stomach drop. Despite his experience and his hardened shell, this was not an every day job.

From the looks of it, Boyd didn't fare much better, his face pale and drawn, unease written all over him. Under different circumstances, Spencer would have found such an appearance impossible in his boss, but inside that building...

"Does Grace know what's happening?" he whispered.

Boyd started and tensed. For a moment Spencer believed he would start to shout, but after a few moments he shook his head. "No." There was pause. "She guesses, though."

"Dr. Foley isn't on the same floor, is she?" Jason asked quietly.

"Would it make a difference to you?"

Even though he didn't sound accusing, both agents swallowed before they answered. You didn't tell a man that you were knowingly risking the life of his...girlfriend? Partner? Wife? Friend?... Without being uncomfortable. Ari finally plucked up the courage.

"To me, yes. To the case..."

"That's what I thought." Boyd nodded again. "She's on another floor. As long as you can keep it contained to the first floor, she'll be safe. Unlike many other people."

"We're not murderers, Mr. Boyd!" Jason hissed.

"No." There was a pregnant pause. "Of course not." Boyd paused again. "You're just forcing several dozen people to be collateral damage..."

"There is no other..."

Jason didn't get the chance to argue his case any further as there was a sign that set the units moving. This operation, though backed by the Home Office, didn't include any officers of the Metropolitan Police - they'd be doing the unpleasant job of cleaning up.

As the agents began moving towards the building, both Spencer and Boyd turned away towards the sea. Neither noticed the unmarked car driving by them a few minutes later, just before the air filled with the sound of shots and screams that were audible even from this distance. The woman inside the car didn't recognise them either.

"I hope it's over with that," Spencer offered after a while of silence. It wasn't uneasy, but tense. For once, Spencer felt himself in absolute accord with Boyd. The other man was even less pleased with the proceedings than he was. "It's been nothing more than a bother from the beginning."

"Shoot first, ask questions later, not our style." Boyd sounded wooden, his thoughts not so far away and yet a whole world.

"We've got a bit more style than that. We just use our fists and then ask."

The two men gave each other a long look, tinged with rueful amusement. This attitude had gotten them both into more trouble than it was worth and it had been only a prolonged spell of luck, fancy footwork and mutual support for them not to really have suffered the consequences.

"How much did she guess?" Spencer asked after a while, trying to ignore the dull pops of arms fire.

"I don't know. Still, I expect to hear a few choice words about it once this is all over."

Nothing more was said, both men hoping that choice words were the worst they'd have to deal with afterwards.

* * *

The last shot was fired.

The fog from the last flash grenade lifted slowly.

Damage became visible.

And there was a lot of it.

* * *

Boyd had been part of more than one forced entry into a house, some of them had been violent, but the state of the hospital's first floor made the bile rise in his throat. Next to him, Spencer stopped, Kat as well, the young woman having to turn away. Even Eve halted in her step and took a deep breath before proceeding inside.

"It looks like a war zone," Kat whispered as they tentatively went further inside, and flinched when underneath her foot something crunched.

The floor was littered with debris - pieces of plastics, plaster from the walls, glass, ceramics, strips of clothes - some charred, some melted, some burned. The smell of burning materials was everywhere.

There were bullet holes in the walls, some areas of the walls blackened. A window had been pierced by a bullet and was shattered in its frame.

Just as they were closing the distance to where Eve was working, a gurney was rushed by them and with a pang, Boyd recognised the person on it to be a man he had seen sitting in the park a few days ago. They had exchanged a few words then, nothing serious, about the weather or so.

The doors to every patient's room was open and from a few of them, sobs or screams could be heard. The nursing staff, their faces showing the same state of shock as the patients', were trying to soothe and calm, but had little effect. A few steps down, by the wall, a nurse was receiving a bandage around her head, blood running down the side of her face.

Further down the hallway, on the floor, there were two bodies, covered with sheets completely.

Eve was working on the third.

"This is a nightmare. A bloody nightmare."

Silently, Boyd agreed.

"That's not what we were working for," Kat muttered to herself, echoing Spencer's sentiments. She still looked shocked, her face pale and her hands shaking. "That's not how it's supposed to be."

"Unfortunately, this is how it goes," Boyd quietly replied, his hand landing on Kat's shoulder and squeezing. "In the end, only the result counts, not the means."

"This won't hold up in court."

"I'm afraid, DC Howard, there won't be a court hearing about this. If anyone of those three men survived, I doubt he will for much longer." How he managed to get the words out evenly, Boyd didn't know. Inside him a battle raged - anger, disappointment, disgust. Kat was young, and, despite her hot-headedness, still idealistic, but the decades in service didn't change the fact that he looked at this scene and couldn't make sense of it either.

The three officers made their way slowly towards where Eve was kneeling next to a body. Ari stood next to her, waiting for a result. His face was drawn, his expression almost embarrassed. "This is the man we could identify as Nadir, one of their Jack-of-all-trades, if you want. Had quite a career ahead of him."

"And now he is dead," Eve interrupted, her voice cold. "Four shots, each of them would have killed him."

Ari had the good sense not to comment on that.

"What about Bareej and the other man, Wahid?"

"Bareej is still in his room, now watched by a few of our men. Jason took Wahid, he's only lightly injured. We'll question him, see if we can find out who's financed them. It's only a matter of time."

The CCU-members exchanged a look, not at all convinced by the easy dismissal. The casual approach to the destruction and human damage the Mossad was taking didn't sit well with them. Anger bubbled more hotly.

"Who is going to handle the press?" Spencer asked, sarcasm barely hidden from his tone.

"I am, since your DAC categorically refused." Sam Rosenberg sounded amused, derisive and serious at the same time. Ari stood straighter instantly, while the Met-officers tensed.

"This was your operation, Mr. Rosenberg, your way of doing it," Boyd declared. "We've been just the hired help. So, I think it only fitting,..." Unlike Spencer, Boyd didn't bother hiding his sarcasm. "...That you reap the public reward as well. I am sure it will be a piece of cake for you."

If the words got to Rosenberg, it wasn't clear; in all his years of covert work, his poker face had evolved into total perfection, but Boyd didn't care. There were nurses and doctors rushing around, trying to soothe and treat patients and to somehow re-establish the working order of a hospital that had just seen something akin to a raid in a war zone. Three people were dead, two of them innocent bystanders, several more - and he didn't even want to hear the exact numbers - injured. This part of the hospital was extensively damaged.

All Boyd could still muster for the situation was disgust.

And the deep seated wish to get away from it all.

"Eve," he addressed the scientist still kneeling on the floor. "When you're done with your work on Nadir Medek, kindly relate your finds to Mr. Rosenberg's people. Once you're done, Spencer, Kat and you can go home. If Christie's got a problem with it, give him my number."

The junior officers nodded.

"Can we come up and see Grace?" That was Eve.

For the first time the entire morning, there was something similar to a smile on Boyd's face. He didn't need to say anything as he turned and left.

Weary to the bone, he slowly walked towards elevator. His mind was a jumble of thoughts, of wild images and noises, creating a cacophony he could only handle by ignoring it and everything around him. His only focus was on the elevator and by using it going up to Grace's room. There he would find what he needed.

Lost in his thoughts, he mechanically set one foot in front of the other. He didn't hear anybody, didn't see anybody. Not even the brunette who entered the building and gave him a surprised look as he passed her.

* * *

Grace looked at him with large eyes full of worry. She didn't look frightened, not any more, but the worry radiated off of her.

There was no way she hadn't heard the shots and the bangs of the grenades, and unlike the other patients and the staff, she could identify the noises for what they were.

"You're back," she breathed, seemingly on a wave of relief.

"Yeah." He trudged wearily towards the bed and gratefully took hold of the hand she held out to him. Her grip was tight and stronger than he had expected.

"What happened?"

Boyd shook his head, unable and unwilling to say anything about it, even _think_ about what had happened.

Grace nodded understandingly. "Is it over?"

As he nodded, she opened her arms and he almost fell into the comfort she offered. Just like the night before, when he still had to go and risk his hide, they somehow arranged their bodies on the bed, holding onto each other. This time, however, it was Boyd who buried his face in Grace's neck. He could feel every breath she took, felt every angle and curve, the tactile sensation of her skin, cool but soft under his fingers, even her smell underneath all that hospital stuff. Holding her tight, he kissed the top of her head, felt her snuggling further into his embrace, shivering.

"Jesus, Grace..." It finally broke out of him.

She held onto him as tightly as she could. "It's alright, Peter. It's alright."

* * *

As she snapped the briefcase shut, she heaved a quiet sigh of relief. It was over.

Not with the best results, but it was over. They had solved their case, eliminated the terrorist threat. As she was standing here, both in Haifa and in Northern Pakistan special squads were rounding up additional members of the group, while at the same time, CIA-agents were politely but insistently knocking on doors in Miami to 'invite' a few affluent people to enjoy State welfare for a few years.

In the end, the investigation, the whole case, was a success and in the long run, nobody would really question how she had conducted it. Sarah knew that, but could gain very little pleasure out of it.

Sam would make sure that nobody questioned her skill and integrity, but she would know, when she looked at herself in the mirror. It was a sobering thought, how much she had diverted from her own standards. She had put her personal interests before her job and that alone was unforgivable. She had left her team alone because of it, and that was unforgivable too.

Worse, though, she felt stupid. She had always prided herself in her level headedness and her ability to sort through her feelings by conscious thought. She had also been proud that she couldn't be duped by a man. In all honesty, Boyd hadn't done that, he hadn't made any promises, not even any overtures, it had been her wishful thinking or ignorance of the glaringly obvious or whatever it was... And that, Sarah decided, stung the most.

Sam had warned her beforehand, he had all but told her outright, yet she had ignored it, hadn't questioned anything. Seeing Boyd in that hospital where he ignored her had been laughable. The only person surprised by his presence had been her, and then the - none too subtle - comment of his team hurrying up so they could visit Grace - it was a slap in the face. They knew it, she knew it.

For days she had ignored the facts, the coincidences, solely focussed on what she wanted to see, what fit in her line of thinking. Where it was supposed to lead, Sarah hadn't considered, not really. Away from New York, away from the antsy hollowness of her life, the well-meaning friends, the string of first dates she didn't even want to go on. They were all just stand-ins - for Boyd - she had claimed to herself. The unfinished business she had with Peter over the unanswered message on his answering machine.

So to London it was, even though she had known months ago that there was no future. Whether it was despite or because of Grace, didn't really matter. It wasn't the other woman's undeniable presence in Peter's life that prevented their relationship; if that were so, then Sam would...

No, she couldn't be that honest with herself, Sarah decided, not now...not ever.

"You shouldn't beat yourself up over this, Sarah."

Sam. Naturally.

"I'm not!" she announced defiantly, but didn't turn around. She could so clearly envision the expression on his face that she didn't need to see it in reality.

"You know," Rosenberg continued conversationally as he slowly sat down in the chair in front of Boyd's desk, "I've always been your fatherly friend..."

"...I know. And I'm grateful for it, Sam," Sarah interrupted quickly and a little more harshly than she intended.

"...And I'll continue to be your fatherly friend for the rest of my life." He paused, wondering for the millionth time in the last 15 years if he should say the words or not. "Because I don't think you'll ever allow me to be anything more than this, a fatherly friend."

As he said the last words with a note of resigned disgust in his voice, her breath caught in her throat. The elephant in the room, trust him to address it.

"It's not what I want, and being my age it is a lot more important to get what you want than it is when you are younger, even though the young don't understand it. But at the same time,..." The conversational tone was back and he sounded almost wistful. "At the same time, I am old and wise enough to know that some things can't be forced and thus will never happen." He got up again, rounded the desk and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "So, we'll forget what I said just now and go on the way we have always done, and maybe, one day you'll stop running and stay. Like Boyd has."

Despite the warmth of the room and the comfort of his touch, Sarah shivered, feeling cold, feeling emotions drowning her like stormy waves.

Then he removed his hand and all that was left was the cold.

His steps were light, still, despite his age, but she could hear each one like the ring of a bell.

"Sam?" she croaked out.

"You solved the case with the desired result, Sarah, that's all that counts, all that anybody will care about."

"No!" There were choked tears in her voice and Sarah hated that, but at the moment, not even that mattered. "Did you...did you know?"

"About Boyd and that hospital? Yes, I did. Ari told me."

"He didn't say."

"You knew of Boyd's special relationship with Grace Foley, Ari couldn't tell you anything new, if you had wanted to know. Where was the point?"

There was another pause during which Sarah fought to keep herself together. She didn't want to break down, didn't want him to see her vulnerable. Not like this. Not when he was right and she was wrong and she couldn't admit to it. From his place by the door, Sam smiled fondly at her. He could see the struggle, feel how she was waging a war with herself, but he could only hope that for once, she would allow him to win. For both of their sakes.

"As I said, Boyd has stopped running, whether he has yet verbally admitted it or not. Maybe, it is time you do the same."

Taking the few steps back inside the room, he extended his hand in an unusual gesture of tenderness that normally he wouldn't have made in such a public setting. Gently running his fingers through her hair, he said quietly, "When you do, I'll be waiting."

And with a last tender stroke, he was gone.

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Thank you for reading. Comments would be greatly appreciated.


	15. Chapter 15

A/N: So...this is the end. The real end of this story. And I actually managed to get it done before we even have air dates. Thank you all for reading and reviewing. I hope my alternative option for season 9 found your approval. Many thanks go, and they are incredibly deserved, to ShadowSamurai83 for her work on this story. It helped so much. And, naturally, to my support team. - Hmm...maybe I should have written something like the Oscar-acceptance speech.

Enjoy the final chapter.

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**Chapter XV**

He remembered an afternoon like this, only a few weeks back. The sun had been shining as well and it had been unseasonably warm, so that the windows were open, letting the breeze in. On the outside it looked the same this afternoon, but there were important differences, if you knew where to look. The sun stood lower already and the windows were closed, due to the bracing temperatures outside.

This time he also didn't sit on a chair next to the bed reading and watching; today he was sprawled out on the bed and held her in his arms. What was similar was the quietness and peace that had settled over the room.

However, with the goings on two floors down, peace was an illusion. At least in a way. With Grace safely in his arms and at her gentle insistence - she didn't allow him any more to keep things to himself - he had told her the details of the last hours, his job, the raid, his worries. It was all a bit too much touchy-feely crap for his taste, but she insisted and he wasn't able to refuse her anything.

With that smile of hers and the feel of her in his arms, safe and warmed, she had him wrapped around her fingers without even trying. And if she said he should talk, he talked.

Admittedly, it helped. The shock two nights ago when the elevator door belled as he left Bareej's room had almost taken ten years off his life. Behind him Nadir with a gun, the possibility of Wahid before him with a gun as well...Boyd had thought his heart might explode. It was like a bad movie, but in real life there was no last second save. If he had been caught, he would have been dead.

As it was, three people were.

"It's not your fault, Boyd. It wasn't your job to save those people downstairs." From her position on his chest, Grace looked up at him imploringly. "Please, Peter. I know you consider everything around you your responsibility, but _this_ isn't yours to take."

"I don't want to." His reply was short and a little on the curt side, but Grace wasn't fazed. She rarely was.

"But...?"

"But..." He had been thinking about this for days now, possibly from the moment they'd _asked_ him to do the covert information gathering. The question was, was this a momentary rush of emotion, or something real and permanent? "What happened downstairs wasn't a proper police operation. It was like a butchering." He paused, drawing a deep breath so that his final words wouldn't sound like some rage. "I don't know if I still want to take part in such actions."

Silence settled eerily once the final words had been said. In fact, you could have heard a pin drop.

"Give up the Met? Stop being a police officer?" Grace asked in a whisper. "Can you even imagine that, Peter?"

"It isn't impossible, I've been doing it for weeks now!" Boyd announced, a little on the rash side. "And I might be facing permanent removal from the service anyway! There's still the trial that might force me to leave. Or,..." He paused again, this time with an exasperated eye roll. "...If nothing else, retirement. I'm getting to the age, you know."

"I know."

He didn't even need to look to know that there was an impish grin around her mouth. "Not funny, Dr. Foley," he chided gently.

"Oh, don't be so narky, Boyd! If you are getting to retirement age, what am I supposed to say? If they don't make me leave on ground of this,..." Grace gestured around the room with an all-encompassing gesture. "...Then they will do it because of my birth date."

"See, my point exactly, Grace. If you have to go, why should I stay? What am I supposed to do in the office without you around to keep me in line?"

Pushing herself up a little, she gave him a questioning look. "You are not serious, are you? If I don't go back...? You don't have to do that, Peter."

"But maybe I want to." Shrugging, he gave her a smile and pulled her back down to lie against his chest again. "Our superiors only let me go on for so long because you were there to temper my...temper."

"I've never been very successful with that," she whispered ruefully.

"More successful than you think, and you know it."

They lapsed into silence, though it wasn't unpleasant, just a little tense. As her fingertips idly wandering over his chest, Grace tried to work her way through what Boyd had just said.

His fingers not idle either, Boyd stared at the ceiling, contemplating what he had just thrown into the room. Up until now, him without police work had been an impossible concept, one he never wanted to contemplate, and leaving the service - more or less - for a woman... Good heavens, what had the world come to? But just as he said it, Boyd knew that he was serious. In whatever way Grace and he would be in the future...

"You don't have to do this, Peter," she repeated in a whisper after a while.

"No, I know." There was another pause while they both chased their thoughts. As long as she was ill and in treatment, and him confined to "leave" while his case was pondered by their superiors, it was a natural thing for him to be by her side and support her. Boyd was a loner with few friends and Grace had been the only constant in his life for the last 10 years at least. His behaviour was just an understandable and innocent act of friendship.

However, it wasn't so innocent and amicable any more when they were lying on a bed together wrapped in each other's arms like this. And it was a far cry from simple friendship to contemplate leaving the job they both used to love to stay together.

"I can't imagine you not spending unhealthy amounts of time in the office. What would you do? Play golf? Take up handicrafts?"

They both chuckled at that, picturing Boyd sitting at a table doing some arts and crafts.

"Like knitting?"

For a moment they were silent, then both erupted into raucous laughter.

"You'd kill the yarn within seconds for being so unwieldy," Grace gasped out.

"Bloody right I would!"

As their laughter tapered off into chuckles and then broad grins, Boyd pulled her tighter against him, once again picking up his strokes up and down Grace's spine.

It was Grace who once again broke the silence. She didn't know why it was, but it seemed that the clear words and questions always came from her, Boyd speaking and thinking in riddles. She wouldn't change that about him, especially when it came to talking about his feelings, but she needed a proper answer.

Leaving his embrace, she awkwardly sat up on the narrow bed and turned to look at him. It was a tricky position, one her neck would make her pay for, but what was a stiff neck to the definite knowledge where she stood with Peter Boyd?

"What exactly are you proposing, Peter?" '_And no sidestepping, please_,' she added mentally.

He regarded her for a moment, registering the earnestness of her expression, her need to receive a real answer. This was a momentous situation, Boyd realized. This was the moment where he did something he had never, not in the deepest part of himself, done. Not for his wife, not even with his son. There had always been something that was more important. The thought was a little overwhelming, going against everything he considered possible.

The silence grew long as he thought over the implication of what he was going to say and he could see in her face, how she took his elongated silence. Grace paled, the light diminishing in her eyes as she slowly began to draw a mask of friendly indifference back into place.

Boyd had never seen it happening before in this clarity. It was a little bit of a shock as he recognised the expression he had often seen on Grace's face as the mask to hide how hurtful his behaviour had been to her. Sitting up as well, he cupped her cheek in his hand.

"That I'm not leaving." It wasn't exactly a clear answer and Grace's raised eyebrow showed it, so he tried again, with a slightly exasperated sigh. "You know me, Grace, I'm not the 'get down on one knee and pull out the diamond ring'-kind and I'm not a man to make promises we both know I can't keep."

She nodded, her mask not lifting. Boyd saw it with a pang. He couldn't really gauge how far he had to go so she would accept his sincerity. He wasn't a man of words, she knew that, but the knowledge didn't seem to be enough now.

"So, I won't do that."

This time there was a crack of a smile at the corners of her mouth and he was going to build on that.

"I was thinking...you really want me to spill it out, do you?"

Her smile became wider. "Yes, Boyd. I think it's time you said it out loud."

"Alright, alright." He rolled his eyes, knowing that no amount of 'umming' and 'ahhing' would get him out of out of this. "I think we'll spend time together. As much as possible. Privately. Share...things..." They both knew that she was swallowing the request for specification. "Be together, really."

Grace smiled in amusement, glad that this would hide the hot wave of butterflies that danced around her stomach, only to form into an equally hot knot at the pit of it. "So, we behave like a couple, possibly a married couple, but never call ourselves that?"

She could see him getting exasperated, knew he was riled up as it was. "You never stop, do you?" he groaned.

"Why should I?" she replied, her smile, her entire posture, turning impish. This was so Boyd and she was going to milk the moment for it was worth.

He gave her a long look, exasperation and gentle annoyance radiating off of him. "Come here," he finally whispered and pulled her closer against him. It was still an awkward angle, but the intent wasn't and therefore, what did angles matter?

Just before his lips touched hers, as her eyes had already fluttered shut, he whispered on a breath against her skin, "I think you'll make a time-consuming retirement hobby, Grace." And then his mouth was on hers, and in the low afternoon sun that swept through the room, it didn't matter that she had a teasing reply.

Kissing was, after all, a much more constructive pastime.

* * *

Despite the sun, it was bracingly cold, the wind from the sea adding a chill to the air. The man leaning against the driver's side door of the car hunched down to make the collar of his jacket slip higher. It looked like a beautiful place, despite the destruction he could still see on the ground floor.

He hadn't come though to contemplate finished business. It was the unfinished one that had driven him to stand here and wait.

He could see her coming out of the elevator and heading for the exit, tried to gauge from her posture what solution she had come to.

"And?" he asked when she stood before him. Despite his age, despite all of his experience, he actually felt nervous about her answer.

She shrugged. There wasn't much to say. Coming back to London had always been about chasing ghosts or dreams or whatever it was. But they'd never been hers. That, at least, she knew now.

"So what do we do now?" he asked, glad that he didn't sound as unsettled as he felt.

Sarah put a hand on his arm and squeezed through the wool of his coat. "We go home, Sam." Giving him a smile, she stepped as close as possible. "And when we are home, we'll see what happens."

**FIN**

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Thank you for reading. Comments would be greatly appreciated.


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